


Desperado

by Hell_On_Training_Wheels



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games), Mortal Kombat - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And she's a pain in the ass, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Backstory, Did I mention very slow burn?, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Exploring Erron's past, F/M, Hatred, He's not a gentleman, MKX Erron Black, Not sure if I will include events from MK11, Slow Burn, Wrote this when MKX first came out, characters really do not like each other, there's a diffrence between MKX and MK11 Erron
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 334,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25481014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hell_On_Training_Wheels/pseuds/Hell_On_Training_Wheels
Summary: Erron Black annoyingly finds himself having to deal with the repercussions of a bargain he made with a woman he can't stand and one who also reciprocates the feeling. ((MKX Erron Black/ OC))
Relationships: Erron Black X OC
Comments: 13
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1  
** **Erron Black's Day Off**

* * *

It didn't matter how far or how long he had gotten away from Earthrealm, it still stalked him. The current masquerade he surveyed in front of him reminded him too much of the West and it made him scowl slightly. On his day off, he was a living and breathing cliché: a cowboy needing a shot of whiskey.

The rough mirror image of a saloon would have been enough to turn him away on any other day, just for it being a reminder of his former realm. And yet here he was, still looking at the shoddy Outworld tavern in the marketplace with an unimpressed countenance, but with his finger tapping the side of his holster in thought.

It had been some time since the mercenary had a decent drink, most of the time he was successful in quelling that persistent vice with what Outworld had to offer.

Lately however, nothing Outworld supplied seemed to help quench his thirst. It wasn't that he was unable to get drunk, on the contrary, he had gotten drunk several times in the past few months trying to get rid of his random dissatisfaction as of late. Whether it was his discontent palate for something different, or just wanted to indulge in something nostalgic, it was enough to pull him towards the building that day and debate whether he should go in or not.

He had overheard from a few commoners gossiping in secret by the docks that this was the only establishment in Z'unkahrah that had any Earthrealm beverages in the marketplace. Served under the table and away from the eyes of Outworld officials that clearly knew it was contraband in the realm. Being so, the gunslinger decided to use his only day off to see if the rumors were true, if not he had all day to kill to find it elsewhere.

He gave the building a critical once-over and couldn't help but frown.

If they didn't have what he was a looking for, at least he didn't have to hang around such a dump.

Perhaps the tavern had once been presentable when it was properly taken care of but now it seemed underwhelming and misplaced in the marketplace; downtrodden and carelessly unmanaged unlike the proletariat shops around him. The building had cracks running up the sides, and the wood on the window shutters and the main door needed immediate replacing and repainting. It didn't even have a name, with the only thing that hung as a decoration was a lamp on the outside. Besides being destitute and bare, the establishment was entirely unremarkable.

However, despite looking abandoned, it wasn't.

Black's eyes landed on the door when it swung open, and a pair of Outworld patrons came out in high spirits until they saw who stood outside. They grimaced when they saw him and shuffled away as fast and as discreetly as they could. The ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of the hired gun's mouth, pleased that his reputation preceded him even when he wasn't on duty.

Unbeknownst as to why to him, the distraction seemed adequate in helping him make up his mind. With a small adjustment of his hat with the touch of his fingers, he approached the door.

Immediately, his eyes met darkness as he passed into the tavern and blinked rapidly to adjust his eyes to the graving disparity in lighting. In fact, the only things bringing light into the establishment were the candle chandeliers that hung over the empty tables and the open window letting the desert mid-afternoon sun inside.

A simple wooden bar stood at the back of the room with the only other occupant in the tavern. She looked up from what she was reading and gave a customary smile before she saw who it was. Her smiled faded, and a stern and worried expression came across her face as she straightened up. She knew who he was, although her demeanor seemed more guarded than alarmed; as if she had done something that would have called his attention here that didn't involve drinking.

The ex-Earthrealmer cast an impartial visage as he waited for her to exit her timid stupor and _welcome_ him to the establishment. Or did he have to stand around all day until she made up her mind? The impatient gunslinger was about to ask before she seemed to be aware of the abiding awkward silence between the both of them that had formed and shifted her demeanor into one that tried it's best to pretend he was someone other than Erron Black. Though, not very connivingly

She creased a painfully fake smile on her face and gestured to the tables with a quick nod. "You may take any table you want."

Black didn't reply and took the table closest to the door and dragged the wooden chair across the floor, causing it to groan against the wood before he sat down. He saw her eyebrows bridge together in irritation at the grating sound before she grabbed a wooden cup and pitcher from beneath the bar and walked to the table.

The mercenary couldn't help but notice that she was pouring water into the cup as subtlety far as she could without being near him but still close enough to give him the drink. She was clearly uncomfortable with him being there, and with the rumors that this was the only place he could purchase something illegal, it wasn't difficult to know what she was trying to hide.

He removed his hat and placed it on the table to unclasp the face mask all the while studying her. It did not take him long to see that she was an Earthrealmer. When he arrived in Outworld, he was somewhat surprised how he wasn't he only one that had made a pilgrimage. Most motivations were to escape jail time, or the wrong people and he learned how to tell the difference quickly. Most native Outworlders had Asiatic features and she clearly did not. She was fair skinned despite a light tan that darkened her. He guessed American or European based on the wavy dark brown hair that sat messily in a bun at the back of her hair. She had no discernable accent that pointed to a country of origin, and oddly enough seem to speak with the same inflection as most Outworlders he had come across.

The bartender had caught his stare for a moment before she averted her green eyes quickly as if trying not to offend him. He also noticed that very much like the tavern her clothes didn't belong in the somewhat richer area of the marketplace they were in.

She wore a faded blue dress with gray sleeves and a black scarf that was as tattered and worn as the black cloth belt that went around her waist. Despite the bulkiness of the clothes, her cheekbones seemed unnaturally hollow, and from what he assumed about the place, it was because they had no money to eat. It made her look frail and bony and not something he particularly chased after. However, the only saving grace he could give her credit was her face was decent enough, but the sour expression she had took away everything pleasant about it. He also wasn't the biggest fan of green eyes.

She must have been annoyed with him staring at her because when she set the cup down the fake pleasantness was gone. "What can I get for you?" she asked, filling the mute void of the cantina with a lifeless tone.

"I take it you have food and drink," Erron asked, his tone dry and rhetorical.

"Yes, we do," the bartender answered as she looked at his hat sitting on the table. He heard her mumble _'typically'_ under her breath before she looked back at him as if waiting for him to continue.

"From Earthrealm…" he clarified with a pointed diction.

"Who said we had anything from Earthrealm?" she countered, raising her eyebrow at him in a challenging manner that he didn't particularly like. The gunslinger gave her a dubious look and shook his head; she was easier to read than a book.

"Just get it," he commanded.

She blinked and after a few moments of internal argument, she sighed in defeat. There was no point in arguing what was already blatantly obvious to the both of them; he would not be here if they didn't serve it and wouldn't bother asking if he already knew for certain.

"As you wish," the bartender replied dejectedly. He ignored her, satisfied and turned his attention to the wall as she walked back to the bar and poured him another glass.

She kept her eyes on the cup as she asked him stoically: "Would you like anything to eat?"

Black offered her a mere nod when she sauntered over and placed the cup in front of him. She said nothing, her thoughts elsewhere as she walked to the back and disappeared through the doors that, he assumed, led to a kitchen adjacent to the bar.

He took the cup and drank but found that wasn't what he had requested. He swirled the familiar swill of Outworld wine in his mouth for a moment before he glowered and spit the wine back into the cup.

The bartender came back out with a plate of bread, and he held up the glass of wine she gave him and narrowed his eyes deliberately in her direction, letting her know his displeasure. He noticed that she hardly had a reaction to his expression, as if she had somewhat expected this and it made him grip the glass a little harder.

"I said _Earthrealm_ ," he said, his tone unfriendly, as he held up the glass she gave him.

"And I told you: who said we have any of that here?" she chimed back with a calm lilt that bordered on almost arrogant; he did _not_ like it.

"I don't really give a shit that you have smuggled goods," Black snapped back, causing her reticent demeanor to diminish a little. "Just give me what I want before I reconsider making it my business."

The girl's eyes narrowed at him, a look of angered disappointment flaming in them before she set the plate of food down and walked back to the bar. He faintly heard her exhale through her nose like an ill-tempered bull as she opted to burn a hole in the wall behind him instead of meeting his gaze before she pulled out something he recognized. The female server walked over and placed the unopened bottle of whiskey in front of him accompanied with a clean glass.

"Would you like to be pay for the bottle or for the glass?" she asked, her green eyes still fixed on the wall behind him. He disliked her subtle sarcasm and with a silent glower slid the bottle in front of him as if the glass didn't exist.

"Would you like anything else?" the girl asked, her eyes meeting his with the same look of discontent. He opened the bottle and said nothing; silently conveying to her he had all he needed.

The bartender huffed and walked back to the bar; he heard her say something under her breath, but he didn't catch it and elected for rolling his eyes as he took a swig of the whiskey. It burned pleasantly down his throat, and he felt himself relax as the warmth from the liquor engulfed him; finally able to scratch the itch. He placed his leg and rested it on the chair across from him and leaned back into the chair while she returned to whatever she was reading.

After a couple of minutes, an older man in his early 60's, also fair-skinned and with similar features to the bartender, came out and asked if he needed anything else which Black declined. He retreated with a conservative smile and went to the back, leaving Black and bartender alone once again.

For the next hour, he kept to himself and so did the bartender. She had retreated to the back for a little bit but came back to wipe down the counter before she picked up her old book and started to read again. He could feel her staring at him every once in a while, and every time he acknowledged it she forced her eyes back to the pages; pretending as if he wasn't there. Other than that, she read in silence and quietly ate a piece of fruit she had brought out for herself.

He had made decent headway into the bottle and half the loaf of bread that was far too sweet for his liking but ate it before he looked at her and decided to fill the lull. He was bored and in no condition to move until the bread settled and soaked up the alcohol that was making him tipsier than he had intentionally wanted.

"You're from Earthrealm I take it," he began, his tone a matter of fact.

The bartender looked up from what she was reading, her brows furrowed as if unsure whether his question meant to be insulting. "I was born in Outworld."

He looked at her indecisively at first but then shrugged his shoulders; accepting her simple reply as the truth; he didn't see any reason she should lie to him.

"So, your father is from Earthrealm, then. That's why you are smuggling whiskey when no one else is?" He said motioning to the kitchen where the old man presumably was. Erron could tell she didn't like his inquiry and fixed her attention back to her book with a frown; trying her best to ignore him.

"You always so obvious or do you just not like the subject?" the mercenary questioned curtly.

"Are you always this rude or is it the drink?" she fired back without thinking. She faltered slightly when he shot her an angered frown at her snippy comeback.

Black's eyes narrowed in her direction. "I'd learn to be more careful. I'm not always such a nice guy."

She looked at him with an astute gleam in her eyes, "I am very well aware."

"You sure you wanna wager on that?" he drawled, his voice ominous as he tilted his head in her direction, his eyes as sharp and cautionary as a viper's.

The bartender shook her head at him with a false stoic expression gracing her face, "Like I have said before: I'm aware and do not need to wager."

"And how is it you are so well aware?" Black questioned, mildly curious.

She scoffed lightly and responded: "You would be surprised what you hear from drunken chatter."

Black raised an incredulous eyebrow, "And you believe everything you hear?"

She gave a small shrug, "No."

The woman suddenly gave him a quizzical look, as if trying to piece together his sudden need to engage in awkward small talk with her. Erron saw her eyes land on the bottle before she lifted the corner of her mouth in a knowing grimace; as if she understood he was either drunk or tipsy.

"Are you finished with your drink?" she asked, looking at the bottle of whiskey and nodding at it.

He flashed a barbed stare, "Do I look finished?" he shot back, his eyebrows lifted in exasperation as he unscrewed the cap.

He took a mild swig from the bottle, not even bothering with pouring anything in his glass as if it was a passive display of defiance. The girl sighed ardently through her nose before her face scrunched with a contemplative look.

With a melancholy and worried smile on her face, she waited for him to place the bottle back on the table before asking: "Are you going to arrest us?" It was a serious question, and she was clearly tense about what his answer would be.

He gave her blank stare and thought it over; searching for a reply in his buzzed state. He didn't see the need to arrest them, besides it wasn't really his job dealing with things that were tedious and small. He left that to the People's Court. Besides, it was below his pay-grade and there was something to gain for keeping them around. He hadn't realized how much he missed the taste of good whiskey until it touched his lips. Also, since Earthrealm liquor, like many things from his forgotten realm, was embargo from entering Outworld, so unless the Kahn paid him to do something about, he supposed they could carry on. 

"It's my day off," was his simple, indifferent answer; as if the answer was meant to be obvious to her. She nodded lightly, but he could tell it was also a sigh of relief on her part.

Both of their eyes suddenly shot to the door as three men walked into the bar. Outworlders, and from what Black could tell, they were related to each other and firmly not pleased.

The female stiffened noticeably when their gaze locked on to her approached the bar. If they noticed him, they didn't acknowledge it. Black watched from his chair with mild curiosity; they clearly weren't here for the food.

The bald leader of the three leaned over at the bar, "Where is it?" he demanded through his teeth.

The gunslinger saw her swallow the lump in her throat but before she could answer, as if on cue, the older man from before sauntered out with a bag of coins in his outstretched hand. The three men turned their attention towards him like hungry dogs.

"Hello Rhen," the old man greeted, his smile faltering a little when they advanced on him, their dispositions growing increasingly darker with each passing second.

The old man shrunk under their silent rancor. "I'm afraid I must ask for an extension. Business has been slow here."

"You have abused your extensions," Rhen snarled acrimoniously, "it's either the entire amount due or one of your legs. He was _very_ clear."

Erron watched the exchange with as much enthusiasm as if he was a forced bibliophile condemned to read the same humdrum story over and over. He had seen this a hundred times before, in both Outworld and Earthrealm, and had little sympathy for the current rendition he was witness to currently. The only thing that was an addition to watching the same teleplay, was they Black noticed the servant girl had come from behind the bar, the small presence of a wooden handle sticking out from the side of her waist while the rest of the knife concealed by the fabric. The hardened mercenary doubted she intended to use it and saw it as a reassurance to herself; something to hold on to for comfort. Black could tell from her uneasy expression that the knife would offer little aid deterring the thug's mind if she needed to use it. Having it certainly wasn't helping the conversation…

"The majority is all there I'm just short by—"

The old man didn't get the chance to finish when Rhen grabbed him by his ear, nearly ripping it off, and pulled him forward with a cry of pain from the old man.

"Just the ankle then," Rhen suggested with wicked malice.

"That is enough!"

The three men turned their attention toward her as she reached for her scarf hastily and fumbled to unhook the gold chain that was hiding under the layers of her clothing. On the string was a dark red stone set in a circle of gold. "Use this as collateral until you get your money."

"We don't want collateral—"

"Then take it as payment for what's owed," she cut off with a stern assertiveness. "You're not getting a coin more today." The bartender kept her eyes locked on the goon with resolute steadiness, although Black could see it as nothing but false bravado.

Stubborn and stupid was the only thing he could conjure up about her as he took another drink of the whiskey and continued to observe the drama.

Rhen looked at her, unsure whether he wanted to take it or hit her. After a moment, he walked closer to her, snatched the necklace and looked it over. He seemed pleased with the value the trinket offered upon closer inspection—it was probably worth more than what was due. He looked back at her and grabbed her chin with his other hand, his fingers digging harshly into her face as she cringed at the touch and pulled her closer to him. Black saw her ball her fists in anger but left her arms hanging as limply like a toy doll by her side. She glared back at Rhen as if she wasn't intimidated by it; as if it wasn't the first time this type of contact had happened before.

Rhen shot her with a cruel smirk, "For your father's sake hopefully you don't run out of jewelry…"

She glared at him before he let go of her face with a light shove and stalked out of the bar with the necklace. The other one followed behind while the smallest of the three lingered with an apologetic expression on his face.

"I'll see if I can grab more—"

"I don't want your charity. Get out," the bartender interrupted harshly, her head motioning to the door. He simply nodded meekly and hung his head as he exited. A small apathetic smile tugged at the corner of Erron's mouth before placing his lips on the bottle once more.

The old man rubbed his ear and looked at her with disapproval and without even thanking her left to the back and slammed a door. Black saw her frown and shake her head; as if annoyed she didn't receive any semblance of gratitude from her father.

"You shoulda ' have let them take the leg," he jested dryly, nodding his head in the direction of the back room.

The bartender snapped her head in his direction and looked as if she was having a difficult time biting her tongue at something she might regret saying. She huffed and turned away from him and reached for a cloth that sat on the bar.

She wiped the counter with aggressiveness one wouldn't usually use as the cowboy watched her from his chair, a humored gleam in his eye when he noticed how heated she was. He noticed she winced at something and with a frustrated look on her face, grabbed the rusty knife that was hiding in the cloth around her waist and threw it on the counter loudly. 

"Friends?" Erron asked with mock interest. She looked up at him, confused for a moment before she shook her head.

"Landlords," she explained with a scowl.

A small _'hmph'_ was all he said in response.

A moment of silence returned to the tavern once again that suited fine for him. Black glanced out the window and saw the sun start to make its descent towards the horizon, he figured he should start heading back for his room at the palace. He looked at the bottle and was disappointed he would not have very much left to take with him back. As he stared at the bottle, the longing to savor more alcohol still present, he felt an idea form its way into his head. Black wasn't sure if it was his own thoughts concocting plans or if it was the booze, but nevertheless he thought it was a good idea. Erron took one last sip and placed the cap back on the bottle before he clasped his face mask on and grabbed his hat.

"How many customers do you get looking for Earthrealm whiskey?" He looked at the tavern with a dispassionate grimace, "I assume it's not many.

She stopped attacking the counter to meet him with a pestered look, "Is that really any business of yours?"

"It's your business if you wanna get paid," he answered, serious yet sprinkled with humor.

Her eyebrows came together in confusion at his remark, but the grisly glint remained evident in her eyes. He stood up, taking the bottle with him and leaving the bread behind and adjusted his hat on his head.

"There are servant entrances at the south end of the palace. The guard will know you'll be coming by at dusk with a delivery. You'll give 'em to the head of the kitchen and then I'll get it. I want 'em at the end of every week."

She looked at him as if he had fungus growing out his face.

The bounty hunter placed a couple of coins on the table before he turned towards the door and casted her with a stern countenance before he exited. "You don't wanna have me come back here."

He left without another word and left her looking at the door with a very bewildered and grim look on her face.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2  
** **Delivery in 30 Minutes or it's Free**

* * *

A week had passed far too quickly for her liking, and begrudgingly, the bartender knew she would have to move soon if she wanted to meet the deadline arranged by Erron Black. 

Still, the stubborn woman remained where she was; refusing to move from her stool while she continued to glower at the basket that sat on top of the bar's old surface. She scratched absently at the exposed skin of her forearm as she continued to regard the inanimate object with more contempt than it deserved.

_"The guard will know you'll be coming by at dusk with a delivery. You'll give 'em to the head of the kitchen and then I'll get it. I want 'em at the end of every week."_

His baritone voice had crept into her mind every day since their last encounter, and as the days passed closer to her appointment with him, she began to disdain him a little more each time.

_"You don't wanna have me come back here."_

Her eyes narrowed marginally; Norah hadn't forgotten his parting words and it had resulted in many sleepless nights the past few days. She battled with what to do: either give into his demands or if she didn't, face the multitude of consequences possibly awaiting her if she refused the Kahn's guard.

Could the gunslinger simply want just a simple business transaction or was there a trap awaiting her as soon as she showed up to the palace with illegal items? Neither option seemed to have a beneficial outcome in the end for herself or father to do business with Black. There was too much leverage to use against them that could result in imprisonment or beheading if they were caught, and she didn't like that it was all based on his compliance; he could easily turn them in with no evidence but his word.

The woman scoffed at the word that came to mind that defined it all: Blackmail.

She glanced once again out the window, noting that the day was approaching towards its end and huffed once again at the basket. Irritation ate at her as she rested her elbow on the table and placed a balled fist in front of her lips.

Meanwhile, another individual sat at the bar, currently looking over their finances and sent an impatient stare her way that she failed to notice. Her father's voice cut through her distemper, snapping her out of her thoughts. "Deliver the basket, Norah."

The female server's aggravation transitioned from the basket to her father and she met his stare with an equally sour look. "No."

Her father slammed his book shut and rose from his stool until he was in front of her on the other side of the bar. He pushed the basket towards her with a slight shove.

"He is giving us coins to deliver this to him— so do so," he told her with a restless tone. He had prodded relentlessly at her all day to leave the tavern to deliver the basket and she could tell he was finally exasperated. "Coins we _need_."

"Coins _you_ need because of a desire to sample a taste of the realm you are from," she corrected harshly, she shook her head. "I told you it would be difficult to sell it, but once again you have dragged me into your endeavors, and now we have a bigger debt to pay."

Silence fell between them, and Norah looked back up to meet his face that was full of frustration. The girl didn't falter at her father's discontent, though; she knew she had spoken the truth and refused to feel guilty about it.

"Erron Black is robbing us with his silence and our stock," Norah told him, shaking her head in disapproval, "there is no benefit to become of this. He barely paid what was due for the bottle he took."

"Which is why you are doing this. You will deliver this to him and retrieve the money — demand what is owed if you have to!" her father ordered, his fist slamming the bar's surface lightly.

She laughed sardonically at his exorbitant comment. Demand money from one of Kotal Khan's deadliest warriors? Did he hear the words coming from his mouth or did he simply not care because he was not the one who would have to deal with Black personally? He always boasted behind curtains that he was an unyielding business man, but time and time again she watched her father falter in precarious negotiations. Bitterly, she could recall his attempts at bluster rewarding him with nothing but bruises. Perhaps once he was successful in Earthrealm, but never once had Norah ever seen him successfully commit to the pledges he made.

"Why is it that _I_ have to do this?" Norah asked pointedly. She nodded towards his sandaled feet and pointed out: "I see that you have two legs as well."

"He asked for you to do it did he not?" her father replied, a small flicker of sarcasm in his voice.

Norah narrowed her eyes at him, and he silently replied with a stern countenance. "I am not delivering these to him," she asserted, "and there is nothing you can say to convince me otherwise."

Her father paused for a moment before a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth before he gave her his threat, something he knew would make her buckle.

"So be it then. I will deliver the basket to Erron Black and you may pick up the supplies from Rhen from now on."

Her face fell at the comment and she met her father's face with a tiny, horrified disposition. The old Earthrealmer smiled at her, his head tilting at her and waiting for her reluctant acceptance to his new proposed arrangement—but they both knew she wouldn't.

She sighed in defeat. _"Damn you..."_ she cursed to herself, choosing wisely not to voice it, before she submitted and grabbed the basket from the bar.

Her father opened the book and resumed counting as Norah closed the door with a curt slam.

* * *

The bartender moved through the sand-covered streets of Z'unkahrah with defeat as she carried Erron Black's whiskey towards the Emperor's golden domed palace in the distance. As dusk draped the desert city in a brilliant orange hue, the cautious girl looked about to see most of the denizens that crowded the marketplace were heading inside for the night or closing their stores. Inside of windows that towered above her in adjacent apartments, she could make out families settling down for supper. She even took note of the few people gathering laundry on top of the buildings, and she wished for a fleeting second, she could trade places with them.

With a hesitant grimace, Norah looked beyond the bazaar and at the Emperor's Palace as if she was voluntarily walking herself to a dungeon; her nervousness growing with each step she took. The entire situation confused her and at the same time sent a wave of suspicion through her.

As a heavy stone of caution settled in her stomach, and she caught herself walking slower as the palace came closer to her; she didn't know what to expect. What if Erron Black had forgotten the deal and this was all a huge mistake? What if she was killed or imprisoned for just bothering one of the Osh-Tekk guards? It caused her to swallow the lump in her throat uneasily at the thought.

The Kahn's palace loomed before her with brilliant exuberance; mammoth and architecturally beautiful as the yellow dome glowed like a second golden sun from behind it's high barricade walls. The native Outworlder had never been so close to the palace walls before, always fearing her presence alone would be indiscretion enough to be executed if she dared to ever roam near it. The ominous foreboding didn't dissipate as she walked through the public gates towards the palace and the royal residence toward over her like a haughty leviathan; she didn't belong there, and it was as if the building itself knew it. Her green eyes flickered to the multitude of guards stationed at entrances that pocketed the inner walls—the ones that led directly to the palace and only a few could enter. Her sandals kicked up sand as her heavy feet skirted her towards the edge of the public garden.

She combed through her memory, trying to recall what he had said about the servant's entrances to the south, as Norah walked along the border of the palace. The bartender passed grand staircase surrounded by guards on both sides and made her way to the entrance.

The girl rounded the palace and found a small stone alley that was empty and seeing no interference, walked through it with a frown; feeling as if she was entering a haunted labyrinth.

Eventually, it ended, and she found herself caught in the stare of an Osh-Tekk guard standing in front of a heavily bolted wooden door. Armed with a spear, he stared at her with a blank expression, as if he had been expecting her; this must have been the guard Black had spoken about.

Norah approached him slowly, her footsteps careful as a shutter of nervousness exhaled out of her mouth. The skull-painted guard looked at her and blinked a couple of times as if waiting for her to say something. At this moment, there was no turning back and she hoped that Black had not forgotten to tell the guard—and that he was well paid by the marksman to keep quiet. She could almost see the situation going poorly in her head like a tragic play if and pictured herself being run through with the spear.

I have this"— she gestured gingerly to the basket by lifting it slightly— "for Erron Black."

In response, the Osh-tekk simply looked at the straw basket in her hands and then back to her before he nodded and stepped aside, unlocked the door and opened it for her.

She blinked a couple of times, stunned that was she was not dead, and nodded her thanks as she walked past him.

Immediately, Norah greeted a sea of white curtains hanging from lines; it was a laundry area and by the looks of it deserted. As she used her hand to block the fabric, she noticed that the large bins were empty of water, the fires were dying, and the scrub boards lay abandoned for tomorrow. An old memory of a previous employer entered her mind, and she rolled her eyes; her days of doing laundry as a profession made her sigh with hatred.

Across the enclosed area, she found another sand colored archway and door, approached it, tugged the handle and found it unlocked. She pushed the heavy wooden door in and found herself in a small garden. The plants in the ground poked through the ground in organized rows, and she figured they must be for meals; she did recognize a few herbs from her own garden that she used daily in their bread.

She walked towards the stone path that hugged the walls of the palace until a wonderful earthy scent invaded her. She breathed in the delightful smell and felt her stomach growl in response. Norah located the source of the smell and approached the barren wooden door and reached to open it.

She heard noises coming from the other side of the door and jumped back when it suddenly opened at her, and an older Outworld woman came out dressed in a dark green dress with sleeves and a white apron tied around her waist.

Her face was kind, pretty and maternal but exhausted as she tucked a strand of salt hair back behind her ear; the rest of her hair pinned up. She finally noticed her, and as same as the guard, did not seem surprised.

The woman smiled lightly, but Norah couldn't help but notice a bit of mistrust and rebuke in her dark eyes; she was repulsed by her but tried to retain false civility.

She lifted her chin and thrust the basket towards her. "I see that Black told you. Here."

She looked at her amused as if she was humoring a child trying to be brave. "Yes. He said you would be by," she acknowledged, mostly to herself.

The older Outworlder reached for the basket and grabbed it, but Norah held on to it firmly, earning a confused and somewhat peeved expression from the older woman.

"It is not free. I want what is owed to me," Norah demanded, her face stony. The woman flashed her a belittling and cold smile; as if she did not take her seriously.

"Don't worry about the payment," she told her plainly, a contemplative scowl set in the younger girl's direction. Norah didn't like the vagueness and uncertainty of her answer, nor did she appreciate the woman's candid expression. The Outworld elder clearly did not like her, and after her many years in Outworld, she could always tell just by body language alone why people distrusted her before even knowing her character…

Because she looked like an Earthrealmer.

And Norah hated it.

Regardless, she returned to the situation at hand. "No. I want the coins promised to me."

The older woman cocked a defiant head at her. "Then march in the palace and find him yourself, dear."

Her calm but pompous proposition sent a spark of annoyance course through Norah. Not only was the woman so grating, but her indifference irritated her. And not only just her indifference, but Black's as well.   
  
He hadn't even bothered to give the woman the money to give to her? Was he not interested in paying at all? Or did he believe she was an easy mark that he could order around and not give anything back in return—or when he felt up to it later. 

She didn't care how dangerous he proclaimed to be, if the mercenary didn't even have the common courtesy to honor the agreement _he_ had set, then there was no point in doing business henceforth.

Despite knowing it was probably not a wise decision, Norah heatedly pulled the basket from the older woman's grasp, shook her head and began to walk away.

"No money—no deal," was all that Norah growled out to the woman, and before she could open the door, the older woman called out to her.

"I would not play games with snakes if I were you," she warned her, her tone frigid but wet with dark humor, "Especially the _venomous_ ones."

The bartender considered her words for a moment and debated if she should truly heed them. With a scowl, she flashed the woman an indignant stare and replied unapologetically: "I apologize for bothering you."

With a slam of the door, she curtly walked back to the tavern with a heavy basket, empty pockets and a mind full of apprehensive thoughts.

* * *

Erron Black sat at his desk and methodically cleaned his revolvers—customary after a long day of trekking through the sand covered capitol looking for leads to prospective bounties. However, his efforts had yielded in no results, and the prospect that he had wasted a day, did not do well for his demeanor; there were a million other things he could have preoccupied himself with them chasing around false leads.

Sitting in his chair with just his pants and boots on, the marksman settled his now clean revolver on the table, leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He rubbed the small leather strip of the faded scar on his nose under his fingertips when a knock at his door. He tried to ignore it, but another set of knocks came soon after. A grumble echoed through his quarters before he got up from his chair and tiredly waked towards the door.

Tama, the head of the Kahn’s kitchens, greeted him on the other side of the door with a placid smile stretched on her face.

"What?" he demanded.

The woman lifted her chin at him as she clasped her hands behind her back. "That girl came to deliver your goods, but she refused to give you anything until you paid her."

The mercenary blinked at her words. After such a long, grueling week, finding out that he couldn't even get the thing he had been looking forward to was out of his reach as well made ire coil in the pit of his stomach like a rattlesnake. Why was she refusing? Did she think he wouldn't uphold his end of the bargain? He didn't need to prove to her that he was good for it, and finding out that he was going to have to march back to that humdrum bar to get his shit, made him grit his teeth in annoyance.

"She didn't give you anything?" he questioned with displeasure.

Tama flashed him with a sardonic smile pulling at the corners of her mouth and said:" I believe what she told me was: 'no payment, no deal'."

Black raised an irate eyebrow at her words, "Is that right?" he said, his voice low as Tama nodded simply.

Erron jerked his head towards the hall, silently ordering her to buzz off. The older servant did so, raising an eyebrow at him before she disappeared from his doorframe. The mercenary exhaled hotly through his nose, his lips twisting into a vexed scowl before he closed the door and walked across his room to retrieve his vest.

If she wanted her money, she would _get_ her money…

... and he would set the record straight on how deals were conducted with him.

* * *

As night finally settled on the Outworld city, Norah waited patiently in the tavern, her mind too preoccupied to sleep as a single candlestick on the bar illuminated the small kitchen while she wrapped up the only payment she could offer. She tucked the bread into the cloth and exited the kitchen to the bar area; waiting patiently for the routine knocks she had grown accustomed to when her mind strayed too far at night.

Norah had been fortunate that her father had already settled down for the night when she returned with no money in her pocket, but she knew she would have to endure his scolding in the morning. Despite Black not giving her anything, she knew her father would blame her for. Say that she was too stubborn and that it displeased Black and that is why they wouldn't get paid.

Three sharp knocks came at the door at a fast rhythm she knew. _Knock-Knock-Knock!_

Grateful for the distraction from her turmoil speculations, Norah picked up the bread and walked towards the door, opened it and smiled solemnly at the friendly face that greeted her.

Guang, her friend and an elderly Outworlder smiled warmly at her, causing the sunspots on his wrinkled face to shift over face. She had known him for some time, even before her insomnia. A friend of Lahn's, the woman who had taught her how to bake bread and who she considered more of a mother than her own had been, had introduced them to each other when she was younger. Lahn was gone, but Guang had always maintained a genuine friendship with her.

She watched his smile fade when he saw her saddened face. He was one of her customers during the day, but at night she was his and she wished she had what was due to him.

"Do you have my payment this week?" he asked softly, but by his solemn tone she could tell that he already knew the answer.

Norah shook her head, hanging it with embarrassment. He sighed lightly and without her asking, he lit the lamp that hung outside the tavern door.

He removed the torch and noticed what she had. "Is that the sweet bread?"

"Yes," Norah nodded, her voice lifting with mild hopefulness. "Will you take it instead of coins? I will pay you as soon as I can."

"Norah… I can't keep accepting bread," he told her begrudgingly.

"I know— but I promise you will get your coins," Norah told him.

"You said that last time as well…" Guang pointed out.

She shriveled up at his words and nodded her head in defeated understanding. After a minute, he heard him move to take the bread and placed it in his bag. He gave her a soft, reassuring smile and brought out the package of meat, fruit and the spices she had requested. He grasped her hand and placed the items in her hand. She almost burst into tears at the gesture; she felt like a beggar and before she could object to his kindness out of guilt, he raised finger.

"I will need my coins next time," Guang told her with an anemic decree, he himself how unsure he would take no for an answer next time.

"And you will get them," Norah reassured him.

He must have been able to see that something was bothering her beyond being penniless— he always seemed to know— and asked: "Are you alright, my dear?"

"Yes, I am fine," Norah responded quietly, trying hard not to convey her stress. The baker crossed her arms across her chest and rubbed her thumbs across her forearms timidly.

"You just seem…"

"Did you hear I have a new customer who also likes Earthrealm drink and food?" she interrupted with bitterness in her voice. She needed to confide in someone, someone that she knew she could trust and who could see her point of view.

Guang's eyes widened with interest, "Oh. Who? Anyone I have met?" the man reached into his bag and broke off a piece of the bread, beginning to eat it as he waited.

She gulped. "Erron Black."

Guang's eyes bulged in surprise, and he choked on the bread at her words. He hit his chest with his fist, and Norah grimaced when the soggy bread came out of his mouth unceremoniously.

"Erron Black?!" he exclaimed, coughing out the words in disbelief.

She nodded. "He came here last week and demanded that I deliver goods to him every week in exchange for payment. Well… I received no payment."

Norah watched as confusion crossed Guang's face at the subtle layer implication in her voice, and she knew he had sensed it when she told him about receiving no payment.

"Norah… did you give him what he asked for?" Guang asked her, concern heavy in his voice. She didn't answer him, perhaps it was a mistake to speak about it, as if she was involving him in her affair as well without his consent. It festered in her mind like a scab, perhaps she should have just given the basket to the abrasive woman. Perhaps she should have just complied even if she didn't get anything in return. Then again, there was the possibility that he didn't care; that he had forgotten all about their arrangement. It was all she could hope for, because she feared what would happen if he hadn't forgotten their deal.

When Norah didn't answer him, Guang let out a huff of disbelief and rubbed his hands over his face. His hands left his face, and he gave her an anxious look, afraid for her behalf.

"Are you ill child?" he questioned at her with a perplexing tone, "do you have any idea what kind—"

"I know! I know!" Norah cut him off with a wave of her hand before she sighed and placed her palm against her forehead, trying to calm herself, "but he did not make good on his promise!"

Guang's face wrinkled in concern but shook his head frustrated disapproval at her. "Did you just start this arrangement with him?" Guang questioned.

"Yes."

"And were you _promised_ payment by him?" the older Outworlder prodded.

Norah crossed her arms over her chest tighter, her brows furrowing together, and Guang knew the answer without having to ask twice.

"I see," Guang said, nodding his head as he pieced together everything.

Gingerly, he placed his hands on her each side of her face and made her look at him. "I say this as your friend Norah. I know Rhen has been causing you both problems— but do not make Erron Black an enemy as well. You both can't afford any more than what you have now."

"He is a scoundrel," was her defiant, but meek retort.

Guang shook his head at her and gave her a stern stare, "Stop with your foolish stubbornness, before you get yourself killed."

Norah closed her eyes in exhaustion, trying to comprehend and mitigate the severity of her situation. He was right, her pride had stood in her way. Perhaps, she should have given the basket and see if he made good on his promise, but it was too late to make anything right. The deadline was past, and she assumed since he had not shown up yet, he wouldn't be coming to make good on his threat. It was somewhat comforting to think that she wouldn't have to see him again, but again there was no certainty and it filled her with dread.

He removed his hands and gave her a flat smile. "I hope you find a way to remedy the mistake you made, and this will not be our last delivery. You still owe me coins."

She smiled weakly in agreement. "You will have them."

He placed a hand on her shoulder, gave a squeeze and muttered a good-bye to her. As the baker watched him walk away, she turned her tired gaze towards the palace. There was nothing that could be done tonight, instead, she would go at first light and deliver it to him. It was the only proposal that she could conjure that would possibly result in an impasse he was angry.

 _Better late than never;_ wasn't that the Earthrealm expression?

With the cold creeping into her skin, Norah walked back inside and shut the door to the tavern—locking it—before covering her yawn with her hand. She doubted she would get any sleep tonight and walked towards the kitchen to utilize the spices Guang had given to her.

As Norah approached the bar, she heard the three familiar knocks at the door once again.

_Knock-Knock-Knock!_

She smiled lightly at them, it wasn't rare that Guang would return and knock on her door a second time. Discarding her new items on the bar, she walked over to unbolt the door.

She found no one.

Her brows knitted together in confusion, and she looked to the right of her to see her friend's torch walking farther and farther away from the tavern down the sandy street. Perhaps she was more tired than she thought…

With a slight feeling of apprehension, she closed the door and locked it behind her once again before she made sure that she had locked the window as well; she did. The baker exhaled and scratched the back of her neck before she decided to dismiss the entire thing and walked back towards the kitchen.

_Knock-Knock-Knock!_

She stopped in her tracks when she heard the sharp knocks coming from the back door of the tavern, just beyond the door of the kitchen. She felt terror crawl its way back up her throat, choking her for a moment, when she knew for certainty that this couldn't be her friend.

Her eyes landed on the candlestick as she entered the kitchen, turned to her left and looked hesitantly at the old wooden door that led to the outside.

Norah's eyes landed on the knife that sat on the counter next to her and grasped it in her hand. With the small knife in one hand, she tiptoed towards the door. Unlocking the door with sweaty palms she swung the door open with her foot, causing the door to bounce on the outside and swing slightly back at her.

Once again, she was greeted nothing but the cold round ceramic bread oven, her herb garden, the laundry line with their clothes and her mother's tombstone far away to the side. She grabbed the handle and closed the door, breathing haggardly as her nerves began to tremble.

Norah jumped at the sound that came from the front door.

_KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!_

After a few seconds, she felt a flame of anger and annoyance light up inside her and instead of fear she marched with determination out of the kitchen and to the front of the tavern. She set the candle down on the bar and stormed towards the door, unbolting it with haste and swinging it open.

Nothing.

With frustration, she slammed the door and bolted it shut, leaving her hands braced against the door as if she expected someone to come and knock it down.

Norah breathed heavily, her head hanging between her arms as she tried to calm herself before she heard the small gust of breath blow out the candle behind her. She closed her eyes as dread flooded her.

The baker removed her hands from the door and stood straight. Her eyes still closed as she heard the heavy footsteps walk casually and purposely slow towards her; making sure every footstep echoed loudly on the wooden floor.

She opened her eyes and shifted them to the side when she heard the steps stop right behind her, and she could feel their eyes bearing down at the back of her head and swallowed nervously. The baker gripped the knife in her hand a little tighter when she heard the familiar and displeased drawl of the man she suspected was behind her.

"Drop it, before I make you," Erron Black commanded.

She voluntarily let go of the knife and listened to it clatter to the ground, trepidation engulfing her when she heard how angry he was and swallowed nervously.

"Didn't I tell you that you wouldn't like it if I had to come back here," he reminded, his tone low and unmistakably serious.

A small, nervous and barely audible, laugh escaped her. She had no false bravado to counter his words and she felt her chest tighten in genuine fear, knowing that she would be paying for her mistake before she had the opportunity to correct it. She decided to try and smooth things with him and found her voice again, her words a pathetic babbling.

"Y-You didn't pay…"

"Shut up."

Norah did just that. She felt his footsteps approach closer until she could faintly feel the hard wall of muscle from behind. His intention was clearly to intimidate her, and she had to agree he was doing very well at it.

She was very aware of her shaky breathing picking up in speed before she felt his hand come over her shoulder and grasp under her jaw. His fingers dug into her face, and she found herself cringing at his touch. Regrettably he turned her, so she was forced to face him, and when she saw the stern look in his eyes, she wanted to melt into the floor.

Norah looked at his hand and saw that he had already grabbed the bottle of whiskey, the very same one that she had left in the basket when she returned home.

She felt him grip harder on her chin; a silent command to look at him and make sure he had her full attention.

Norah could see the outline of his hat and could barely make out that he was wearing a bandana over his face, and despite the darkness, she could see his blue eyes boring into hers from his mask of kohl.

"I'm only gonna say this once, so you better be listenin'," he began, his eyes narrowed at her like a demon, " _You_ don't make the demands. I pay you when I feel up to it with a price I feel like payin'. You are nothing more than an errand runner with a shit-hole bar that happens to have something I like. I wouldn't burn the only bridge you have, if I were you."

Norah's eyes narrowed at his blunt words and despite the hand on her face, scowled defiantly at him. She tried wiggling out of his grip but hissed in pain when he brought her a little bit closer, causing her hands to wrap around his wrist instinctively. He brought his face closer to hers, his hat shadowing her like a thundercloud as he tilted her face up to meet his.

"Next time I have to come back here, we won't be havin' this conversation," he concluded darkly before he let go of her face.

She stepped away from him and rubbed her jaw; massaging it as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a bag. She could hear the contents clink together, and she looked at between him and the bag suspiciously. Erron reached in and grabbed a single bronze coin and using his thumb, flicked it at her which she managed to catch despite the darkness.

"I think I'll hold on to the rest," he said with a cold sense of humor, placing the bag back into his pocket.

She glared sourly in his direction as he passed her and unbolted the door. He stood there for a moment with his back to her before he looked over his shoulder, tipped his hat and told her with mock sincerity: "Have a good rest of your night."

Norah watched as he closed the door behind him before she looked down at the insulting bronze coin in her hand and felt her face twist in anger as she stared at the coin.

As if it was burning in her palm, she flung it away from her as hard as she could and heard it hit the wall before she grabbed a fistful of hair. Her hands pulled at her scalp in anger, and she screamed through her teeth as quietly as she could without trying not to wake her father.

* * *

**_A Week Later..._ **

Erron returned to his room late to find a cloth sack waiting for him on his table.

Smirking knowingly, he closed the door behind him. It seemed his most recent visit to the tavern had finally beaten some sense into the sarcastic bartender.

He placed his hat on the table and pulled apart the strings to see a round loaf that looked more desirable than the sweet loaf he had sampled and a bottle of whiskey.

He nodded in approval and looked inside and found something he had not expected to find. Curious, he plucked the folded piece of paper and opened it and scoffed humorously at what was written.

**_You may keep the bag._ **

He crumpled the note and let it fall to the ground before he grabbed the whiskey and retreated with it to his bed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**   
**Tricks are for Kids**

* * *

After the _incident_ , Black was surprised to admit how decent the bargain was. The mercenary got his libation and she got her money from Tama. A brief retrospect had risen the last time he gave the older Outworld servant the money to give to the bartender: Erron had never asked how much for the Earthrealm contraband. He had always dug out a few bronze coins—or a rare silver one if he happened to be in a good mood— and figured it was enough. Since he heard no word of complaint or noticed a late delivery, the marksman didn't further waste his time determining if he was shortchanging her.

Not that he cared if he was or not.

The woman was in his employ and he made the rules.

A hubristic smirk tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth beneath his face mask. He'd love to see her try and gripe again, but he doubted she would after last time.

Erron opened the door to his room and felt a frown immediately form when he caught the unwelcome presence of Ferra rummaging through his newest delivery and eating his bread. He never really cared for sampling the bread and usually tossed it over the side of his balcony for the rats below, but it was the invasion of privacy that stirred him the wrong way. The gunslinger was accustomed to the dwarf's mannerisms, but even he had to admit that some of her childish antics grated his nerves now and then. Her combing through his belongings being one that he didn't tolerate.

She looked at him with her cheeks already stuffed full of food and gave him a wide-eye look when she realized she had been caught red-handed.

Black crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her which she responded to with a sheepish grin.

"Beat it, Ferra," Erron growled, "And that ain't yours."

Ferra's eyes lit with delight before she responded with a mouth full of bread, barely understandable: "It Ferra's now!"

The cowboy made a move towards her, stepping inside of his room as the female Kahn's guard bolted for the door. Trying to get past him, Erron held up his hands to block her as Ferra bounced around, looking for an escape she could squeeze through.

"I'm tired and I ain't playin'— put it back," he demanded sternly, raising a finger at her. Ferra smiled at him, unmoved by his tone, and continued to treat it as a game despite his clear annoyance. The girl pretended to go to one side which Erron fell for before she slid under his legs on her stomach and took off with a cackle and the bread in her hand.

"Dammit," Black grumbled as he saw her flee down the hall. With a small whip of his hand, he closed the door behind him and muttered, "Runt."

He took off his hat and threw it lightly on the table next to the cloth bag. After dissembling the rest of his gear, he ran a hand over his now mask-less face and looked for the bottle of whiskey in the bag. Instead of the familiar bottleneck he felt something flat and when he lifted it out of the bag, he scowled in disappointment.

In his hand was a clear mason jar with and equally clear liquid he recognized and hated.

_Moonshine._

He was no stranger to it and had enjoyed it once upon a time in his brazen and tasteless youth when he was desperate enough to get drunk. Now older and with a better and more particular palate, he couldn't stomach the stuff.

However, curious and for nostalgia sake, he unscrewed the lid of the mason jar, and lifted it to his lips.

His face twisted into an uncomfortable grimace the instant he tasted it, and even he couldn't help but cough as it burned down his gullet. It was pure, unhampered moonshine alright, and it made him instantly miss the whiskey.

The marksman noticed something on the bottom of the jar and inspected it to find a small spot of caked blood. Using his thumbnail, he scraped it off, the corner of his mouth pulling slightly at it.

He stared at it suspiciously as he put the cap back on it, wondering why the sudden change in merchandise he certainly didn't suggest. Knowing the bartender, Erron couldn't help but think this was some subtle message of vindictiveness despite knowing he scared her last time.

Was it a message that he hadn't been paying enough for the whiskey, so she was giving him something of lesser price?

He had thought he had paid well enough, so was this some blatant attempt to wrangle more coins from him? No coins, no whiskey and a poor substitute in return?

Whatever the intention, he was undoubtfully unhappy about it.

The ex-Earthrealmer lifted the hood of his trunk by the foot of his bed with the heel of his boot, twisted the cap back on the bottle, and discarded the moonshine inside; hiding it for now. The last thing he needed was Ferra getting a hold of it.

He walked towards the balcony of his room, opening the double-sided doors and looked beyond the palace walls with a stern and contemplative countenance.

His astute eyes fixed in the direction of the tavern and located it quickly among the maze of buildings. A brief proposal flickered through his thoughts of marching down to the tavern with the moonshine in his hand to question her, but then again, he hadn't been lying to Ferra when he had told her he was tired. He simply had no mood to deal with the bartender's barrage of glares and sarcasm that he knew would accompany a future encounter with her.

However, it didn't mean the mercenary was going to let it slide. There were terms they agreed on and she had not delivered. He wondered if this was a bold challenge on her part—to see what she could get away with. She was an idiot if she thought she was could get one over on him. Whether she was purposely stoking the fire or just ran out of what he asked for and tried to compensate, he was displeased regardless.

Despite unwritten, there was a contract between them, and there was a price for breaking the terms agreed.

* * *

**_A Week Later..._ **

Norah tried to walk through the laundry area undetected, however, as soon as the other occupant saw her and called out in her direction, the reluctant bartender forced a fake smile on her face before turning to engage her in conversation.

The petite, teenage and heavily pregnant Outworld girl, which Norah had learned was named Méh-è, placed the scrub-board down and approached her with a beaming smile that older girl was a little jealous of.

As they exchanged a brief set of 'hellos', Norah found herself struggling for something else to say; she wished she never had helped her out in the first place.

"How are your hands? They look better than the last time," Norah observed, finally finding a topic to talk about.

Méh-è presented her hands to Norah with an enthusiasm; as if she had been waiting all day to show her. "That herb worked very well. See— hardly any cuts!"

A week ago, Norah had stumbled upon her in the laundry grimacing in pain scrubbing tablecloths. Turned out Méh-è had a skin condition that left her hands naturally dry and scrubbing her hands in hot water day after day caused the water to leave small, open cracks on her fingers.

After Norah had given Black's goods the head of the kitchen— which she also learned that week was named Tama— she helped Méh-è finish up her laundry despite her reservations to remain invisible to the palace staff; she wasn't here to make friends.

The bartender had always hated laundry, but she felt terrible watching the girl scrub the skin of her fingers off. Turned out she was a servant that got demoted by Tama, and this was her first time with the laundry, and upon learning it, made Norah feel worse if she didn't help her.

Using a tip, one that she had picked up from a worker of the launderers that she had once worked in, Norah had gone next door, nearly getting caught by Tama in the process, and plucked the purple ball-spiked herb she needed from the garden. Norah told her to grind it down, mix it with water and soak her hands as soon as she finished her chores. Luckily for Méh-è, the herb was a weed that wouldn't be missed, so she could use as much as she wanted.

"Yes, they do look better. I'm glad it worked well for you," Norah said with a small, lackluster nod, "How are your betrothed and the baby?"

"Both are very well," Méh-è joyfully told her, "He will be happier when he buys my contract from Tama, though. She wants to have me work up until the baby comes because I still have so much time left, but he said he had the money so I will not have to work anymore! Isn't that wonderful?"

"That is fortunate. I am very happy for you," Norah replied dryly, having a hard time conveying her false happiness for the indentured servant.

Méh-è had told her about her betrothed as well as countless other things to pass the time. It turned out she was to be the 4th young wife to a rich, and much older man who she had met at one of Kotal Kahn's feasts. He had wooed her and gave her promises of a comfortable life after taking the girl to his bed. Méh-è had told her she had grown up as a shielded orphan adopted by Tama since her childhood. She had never left palace walls, and therefore, didn't know the perverse character harbored by some outside of it. She had gotten lucky that the man wanted to buy her after she discovered her pregnancy, but the girl herself seemed more swept away in her delusions of potential happiness that supposedly awaited her by finding love than understanding the levity of what would had happened if he had denied ever being involved with her. Almost as if the latter couldn't have possibly happened to her, so therefore, never crossed the palace servant's mind.

After Norah learned how naive Méh-è truly was, she didn't want anything to do with her after that. It wasn't her business to get involved no matter how desperately she wanted to tell her how false she felt the girl's lucrative fantasy to be. In Norah's experience, she had seen few fairy tale marriages.

Méh-è noticed the bag and looked back at Norah, breaking her from her thoughts. "What are those?"

Norah suppressed the urge to roll her eyes; she had already told her the reason for her visits last week. "The mercenary's items. I told you I deliver them each week."

"Oh, oh yes I remember that you did," Méh-è said with an awkward smile, embarrassed by her own forgetfulness. Silence filled the void, and Norah started to eye the door with longing, wanting to exit the uncomfortable conference between them.

Much to her unexpected relief, Tama opened the door, looked at them both with a frown and nodded in Méh-è's direction.

"I was unaware that you were finished with your contract already, Méh-è. It must be pleasant to be able to talk with such time on your hands now."

Méh-è mumbled her immediate apology and bowed her head towards her employer., Norah however, gave the woman a steely look at her harsh tone.

It wasn't that she really cared how Tama treated Méh-è, it was just how she treated people in general. Her interactions with Tama had always been brief thankfully, but there was an unspoken mistrust between the two of them since her first encounter with the older woman. There was an unsettling intuition that weighed heavily in the pit of her stomach every time she saw Tama; the woman always looked at her as if she was calculating something callous to do to her.

Simply, it was not knowing _what_ exactly about Norah bothered this woman so much for her to look at her coldly each time. It made Norah's skin prick with annoyance. The only conclusion she could ever come up with was that it was only because she resembled an Earthrealmer, and each time the bartender saw her, she always mirrored Tama's dirty looks with equal candor.

"Continue to give me that look Norah and I will snatch it from your face," Tama told her, her words as blunt as a brick.

Tama let out an airy scoff Norah's stubbornness when she didn't desist and said: "He wishes to speak to you."

Norah's eyes widened for a brief second before her eyebrows pressed together into a repulsed glower. She had done everything he had asked despite her distaste for the man.

"I have not done anything wrong," she protested firmly. "What can he possibly want now?"

"Speak with him yourself," Tama barked, jerking her head towards the door where the mercenary waited on the other side.

"Good luck," Méh-è whispered sympathetically. The tavern girl slanted her eyes towards the teenager and flashed her with an unappreciative glance.

Fleetingly, the thought of simply throwing the cloth sack at Tama's feet and marching back home without seeing him was an extremely persuasive one. But she knew that she wouldn't even make it towards the other door before Tama sent Erron Black on her. Dispassionately, Norah sucked in a breath and walked by both palace servants towards the door Tama stood in front of. The women didn't exchange looks as the bartender crossed the threshold and as soon as Norah entered, she felt her feet sink into the earth and hold her as still as a statue when she saw the mercenary for the first time since he visited the tavern that night.

Erron Black leaned against the wall of the kitchen adjacent to the door with one of his knees bent and the sole of his boot against it. With his arms crossed over his brown chest plate, he looked in her direction with an unreadable visage—partially due to his heavy leather mask eclipsing half of his tanned face. However, the kohl lidded eyes stared back at her with displeasure and annoyance. She wasn't sure if he was displeased about some unidentified issue she was obtuse to, or it was simply because he was as thrilled to see her as she was.

Both palace women entered through the garden after Norah as did and the only acknowledgement that Black and Norah gave was a brief flicker towards their direction as they excused themselves through the kitchen and once again left the two alone.

The silence between the two was thick enough to be claustrophobic and Norah furrowed her brow at him uncomfortably, waiting for him to address the reason for the impromptu meeting he had called. She hadn't forgotten the way he had made her feel in the tavern that night and at the memory of it, sent a bolt of hatred coursing through her as her chest rose and fell with heated anger.

Seemingly unnoticed by him, the gunslinger nodded his head at the bag in her hands, before he shot his eyes vilely at her.

"It better not be the same thing as last week," he growled out.

The woman's lips parted before quickly clamping down into a straight line. So that was what was bothering him. She would be lying to herself if she admitted that she had not seen this reaction coming.

When Rhen and his brothers procured the _new whiskey_ and informed her that they would no longer be able to be able to supply the other kind, Norah knew that it wouldn't sit well with Erron Black. They were unable to keep up with Rhen's prices for what the Kahn's guard wanted, and despite that Rhen knew he was their customer, was still dissatisfied from the meager payment that Black gave to her to give to the landlords. So they furnished them with something worth the price of what they received.

In all honesty, Norah didn't know the difference besides the packaging and color of the liquid but knew that the mercenary was going to say something regardless if he liked it or not. She was surprised he had waited a whole week— she had expected him that same night to put a bullet in her head after she dropped off the first delivery of the new alcohol. Since she had not seen him until now, she had assumed that he had no objection, so it had taken her by surprise to see him as disquieted as he was.

She crossed her arms over her chest, the bag still hanging from her hand. "I know it is not the what you asked for, but doesn't all whiskey from Earthrealm taste the same?" she remarked with a cool insistence. "I do not see what the issue is."

Norah licked the bottom of her lip when he uncrossed his arms and stepped towards her with a collected but menacing stride. Much like their last confrontation, he overshadowed her with a threatening arrogance. He had the guns, and therefore, she was expectant to be receptive towards his demands. They both knew it, he gloated it subtly but candidly, and she absolutely abhorred it.

The girl resisted taking a step back away from him as he stopped to stand in front of her, looming over her like a turbulent thunder cloud. Instead, she inclined her chin at him minutely, blinking blankly at him in a performance of fictitious bravado as her crossed arms tightened closer around her body.

Without a word, he held out a calloused hand, demanding she hand over this week's delivery. With hesitance, Norah silently gave it to him as their poisonous stares never meandered from each other.

She noticed a slight lift of one of his eyebrows, as if he was acrimoniously scoffing at her demeanor, before he opened the bag and looked inside it.

His eyes lifted to hers like a bull's and she couldn't stop the ragged breath that escaped her when his expression soured, and he lifted the jar from the sack. He let the rest if the cloth bag drop, his eyes never leaving hers as he held it up under her nose.

"Does this look like whiskey to you?" he questioned brusquely.

A flood of contempt washed over her at his belittling tone, as if he was treating her like a simple child. With a small shrug of her shoulder, she regarded him as if his tone hadn't bothered her. "Once again, doesn't all alcohol from Earthrealm taste the same?"

By the sharp flicker of indignation in his eyes, Norah knew it was the wrong answer to give him. She didn't care if he thought her sarcasm was spiteful to him, the bartender knew there was no way he would care about the situation she was in. All he cared about was what he got for his money and therefore wouldn't waste her time blubbering about how Rhen had changed the liquor without their consent.

"You did not pay us for what we were giving you, so we were forced to give you what we _could_ afford."

Her steadfast explanation didn't seem to register to him that it was _his_ fault the he received what was in the bag, but instead, looked at her as if it was insult barbed at him.

She shook her head with impudent bluster, "You should be grateful you are getting _anything_ with what you pay us. It is the same thing and I doubt it is as worse as what you were drinking before."

The irked gunslinger suddenly quirked a half-amused eyebrow at her, as if she had said something ridiculous she was unaware of. He regarded her with only what she could describe as derisive contemplation as his eyes shifted from the glass bottle, to her and back again. Norah could have sworn she saw the corner of his eyes crinkle, as if he was sneering, but it was nearly impossible to tell with the mask over his face.

The bounty hunter lifted his hand to unscrew the cap of the jar before he shot her a challenging stare.

"Drink it."

Norah dropped her arms and took a step back, shaking her head firmly in aversion at him. "I will do no such thing."

"I'll make you a deal," Erron began casually, although she still detected malevolence in his tone. "If you can drink it with a straight face, I'll pay you for it."

Norah's eyebrows bridged together angrily, "You were planning on not paying me?"

"I ain't payin' for something I know I didn't damn well ask for," the cowboy bristled. His eyes narrowed, "So now you are gonna have to _earn_ it."

Norah huffed scathingly at him. Earn it?! She had done _everything_ as ordered against her will and now he was making even more ludicrous demands? Her job was to deliver his goods, nothing more, yet he was treating her as if she was the architect to some scheme to cause him grief. She wanted nothing to do with him, let alone present herself as a target to his wrath.

The Kahn's guard leaned in towards her, so they were eye to eye, and added with almost a humored tone: "Drink it and maybe I'll even throw in a little extra…"

Based on his persistence, it was obvious to the girl that he knew something that she didn't about the drink. Maybe it was worse than what she had given him before and he simply wanted to prove his point, but she didn't need to play his crude games to understand that.

But again, they needed the money.

She frowned at him and asked bitterly, "And if I do not?" Norah looked at the jar and then back to him pointedly, unconvinced that he would honor his word.

"You'll get your money—if you can drink it," he assured earnestly.

Norah looked at the jar with disfavor, unsure what to expect and whether she wanted to voluntarily walk into his trap or not. Furiously, he had found a way to put her in a corner with few options yet again. The seemingly constant flow of victories against her was enough to dislike him, but his demeaning arrogance caused the bartender to unequivocally despise him. Everything he did was conniving and conceited, and she could tell he relished in it even when his face was deadpan.

There was no choice; the only reason he was sincere was because Black thought she couldn't do it. So, the only decision Norah could make was to accept his bet and win. All she needed was one victory against him to hopefully prove that she was not someone that could so easily be trampled on. A minuscule amount of respect would have been adequate—not to mention a pocket heavy with the coins he owed.

Norah snatched the bottle from his hand heatedly, the liquid sloshing on the sides and wetting the sleeves of her dress, and without breaking eye contact with him, drank a large mouthful on purpose. She could have simply drunk a small portion, but there was a point to be made.

It was only when she heard him chuckle darkly at her candid ignorance, did she understand how big of a mistake it had been.

Norah managed to swallow a little, but most of the liquid lingered in her mouth before she felt it burn the inside of her cheeks like a thousand embers. Her eyes teared up as she felt the alcohol travel down her throat. It felt like someone had shoved a branding iron down her windpipe and the end of the iron sizzled in the pit of her stomach.

Norah blinked the tears from her eyes enough to see his bewildered, but cruelly amused expression. When she saw his reaction, she wanted to fight, and try and swallow the alcohol, but she couldn't hold it in a second longer.

She coughed out the remainder and let it soak the ground by his feet. Black grimaced in disgust and moved out of the way as she wheezed for air that seemed unattainable through the unbearable taste left in her mouth. _By the Elder Gods, what was that?! It was horrid!_

By the time the taste dissipated, and she was able to compose herself, Norah wiped the tears that spilled with the back of her sleeve, as she gritted her teeth in enmity.

Black regarded her with a blasé disposition, but his eyes gleamed with the same vain relish that he had won again. Her fists clenched at the sight of him, and before he could say anything, she turned away and left, utterly frustrated and embarrassed.

She felt like an utter fool. It was an impossible bet that she would have never been able to win no matter how steadfast she wanted to—it was the only reason he made it in the first place. She ground her teeth together, hard enough to send pain through her jaw, as she stormed away.

She heard his footsteps before she felt his hand grab her arm, and without thinking, fueled by her resentment, she whirled around and slapped him across the face.

It hurt her hand hitting the mask more than it looked like it had hurt him, however it was enough to cause the air to grow heavy with tension when he turned his head back to her, the ire evident in his eyes.

Norah didn't care; she met his eyes with as much discontent as he had. She looked at his hand that gripped her forearm uncomfortably and back at him with utter rage. He was a malicious son of a whore that she would no longer serve. If he wanted his liquor so badly, then he could march into his old realm and get it himself! He didn't pay for it anyway so why should she do anything for him any longer!

"Keep your money— our bargain is over," she scowled, her teeth bared to him venomously.

Surprisingly, Black didn't say anything as he kept the same look of quiet antipathy towards her. There was an unexpected nature about the way he silently observed her; she assumed that she was dead very soon but, he didn't try to go for his pistols despite it looked like he wanted to. For a fleeting moment, she could have sworn she saw a flicker of guilt cross his features, but she only assumed she saw wrong. He was incapable of feeling guilty about anything, it was what made him so good at his job. However, there was a nagging voice of persistence that assured her that she did see remorse.

Without warning, Erron twisted her forearm uncomfortably until her palm was facing up to him, and in response, unsure of his intentions, Norah tried to wrench her arm away, but it just earned her a small whimper of discomfort. She saw his shoulders drop slightly as he rolled his eyes, his expression still stony, as he reached down near his hips and she heard something click.

She thought it was him reaching for his firearms before she felt him place the bag of coins roughly in her hand.

Norah blinked at him in stunned silence, her anger dwindling and replaced with sincere confusion. He wasn't going to kill her? She couldn't believe it. Did he truly feel guilty or was he merely honoring the deal he proposed? She _did_ drink it, but she hadn't expected a thing from him.

"Don't get too excited," he informed her, his voice as rough as gravel across her skin. "You still owe me two bottles, and you won't get any more coins outta me until I get them. Come back again with moonshine and I'll do more than make you drink it."

He suddenly jerked her forearm towards him, earning a small sound of surprise from her as she shrunk underneath his threatening glare.

"You even try and hit me again and you'll be dead before you can raise a hand," the mercenary growled, his hand gripping her skin tighter to highlight his point. She hissed in pain at him, glaring as she attempted to pull away. He leaned forward an inch, matching her scathing look with one of equal measure, "Hate me all you like. You'll still get me what I'm payin' for."

He let her go without so much as a fleeting glance her direction as he made his way towards the door and disappeared. She rubbed where he grabbed her by the arm, her skin still burning from where he touched her, before she shifted the coins through the bag with her fingers. It's weight felt awkward in her hand and she was unsure how to pocket it without feeling averse. It had taken humiliation on her part to finally get the payment owed to her, and while she was satisfied that she did, felt loathsome about how she had to undergo it. She played into his hands and she even though he had relented and gave her his due, he had still won. Even when she still beat him at his game, he still reveled in the victor's spoils. Now looking back, had she truly won, or had he just submitted because she was thinking of ending their deal? Were the coins just a way of swaying her to stop her from rethinking their bargain?

She frowned; it must be, there wasn't any other rational explanation. Black had reluctantly surrendered much like a parent did with a spoiled child by giving them what they wanted to forget what they had been upset about to begin with. He had used a clever tactic, disguised as a gain for her, that was ultimately nothing more than a gain for him. She got coins, but she was still as bitter as before.

She was pulled from her thoughts when she caught Tama walking towards her with a detached disposition. "I see your arrangement with Erron Black may not be a permanent one," Tama noted.

"I fail to understand why that is your concern, Tama," Norah shot back, preparing to leave before Tama held up a hand to stop her. Norah shifted back and forth impatiently; after dealing with the ill-tempered mercenary enough for one night, she was in no mood for Tama. The older woman smiled as she looked her over, and Norah could tell that once again she was calculating some malignant scheme in her head, but instead of staying quiet, was trying to find the appropriate words that would not generate another fight.

She walked to Norah and grinned with confidence: "Before you leave, I have a proposition for you; something that I feel may benefit the both of us."

"How so?" Norah asked with a dubious frown.

"I have noticed that you also deliver bread to him as well," Tama pointed out with interest, "do you spend much time around ovens?"

Norah nodded, "I bake depending on what we have in stock."

A placid smile crossed the palace servant's face: "So you are comfortable and experienced in handling different types of bread? This is good."

"What is it that you want to ask me?" Norah cut off, her mouth sitting in a firm line on her face.

"Once Méh-è has her child, she will no longer be under my contract," Tama informed her, "I would like to offer you her place. She did most of the baking, and she was terrible at it. I would like someone with experience this time."

Norah laughed caustically at her. "You want me to be your indentured servant?" She shook her head in offended disbelief. Did she think that was as naïve as the servant girl? "No thank you. I would prefer to not be your slave."

"It is not slavery— it is an opportunity," Tama rebutted unabashedly, "The servants are treated better than the slaves are and after a certain time you will be free to leave— unlike them. You will have a lodging and food—even a small bonus to take with you if you do not wish to continue after the contract is expired."

Norah turned to leave, giving the woman her silent but crass rejection, but stopped when she heard Tama's voice once again.

"You would be free of Black's deal," she called out persuasively and Norah could almost feel the grin at the back of her head.

The thought of getting out of Black's deal was tempting, but there was no guarantee, and the idea of being employed to a woman she could barely trust left a rancid taste in her mouth.

Also, the palace employee had forgotten one important detail: "I have food and lodging, and I cannot just leave my father to handle the tavern by himself."

Tama sighed even-temperedly from behind her, "Well… I can certainly understand your loyalty to your father, and I admire that. However, I can assure you it is not as bad as you perceive it to be. If the position is still available when you _do_ wish to take it, I would be happy actually to have someone who is already trained and does not have to be coddled through each step."

Norah looked over her shoulder, gave Tama an acidic smile in return and quipped: "You should find someone soon, then. She is due any day now by the looks of it."

Tama laughed halfheartedly at her joke, it was possibly the only positive reaction she had ever gotten from the woman, but still, she felt a sense of foreboding creep along her skin when Tama looked at her like a mystic that already knew her future.

* * *

Erron Black knew he had been far too generous giving her the bag of coins, because after five weeks passed without deliveries, he was getting close to shooting her full of lead.

She was fortunate that he hadn't been around Z'unkahrah, but when he returned five days ago, expecting to find his goods waiting in his room, he found nothing. After speaking with Tama, she informed him he had not seen the girl since he came down the kitchen himself but had stopped by to let the woman know that it would be a while until they received another shipment of supplies.

At first, he thought that she had stuck true to her word and ended their bargain, but after what Tama had informed him, he decided to resolve the situation himself.

What the bartender told Tama had been counterfeit. She hadn't had a problem getting it to him week after week, so why was it taking so long now. He could only conclude that she must have heard he'd been out of town and decided to slack off. He wouldn't shoot her, but he would let her know that was not how things worked.

Black found Tama outside, waiting for the girl to bring him his deliveries, and flashed him that same aggravating look she always gave him when he approached before turning her attention back to the door.

Erron had noticed that the older woman had taken an interest in the girl over the weeks for reasons he didn't care to know. The only thing he did want to know was why Tama gave him the same irritating look every time he gave her the coins for his delivery. A knowing and smug glint in her eyes— as if she knew something about him, he didn't— but said nothing and just smiled placidly to herself.

He finally gave in and asked, thoroughly irritated.

"Spit it out already," he demanded, dropping the bag of coins curtly in her hand. The old Outworlder just shook her head and shrugged lightly, the look in her eyes never faltering.

"I honestly have nothing to say," she plainly told him.

"Bullshit," Erron spat.

Tama didn't reply and just smirked in the direction of the door when it opened to reveal the bartender. Erron shook his head, exhaled hotly out his nose and decided to push it out of his head.

He noticed the girl jump slightly in surprise when she saw him, obviously not expecting him to be there, and frowned bitterly as he came towards her. Good, she still hated him but feared him, this would make things easier.

"Well?" he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest and nodding towards the bag, "Took you long enough. You get lost on the way here?"

His sarcastic comment caused a spark of anger to flash in her eyes, but it seemed to diffuse when a pensive expression enveloped her face; as if something he said caused her to remember something.

"It is not if we can travel to Earthrealm when we please, I told Tama I would be late, but you were not here. I will also need more for this delivery," the bartender told him with a hesitant grimace, "the last delivery did not end well, and they raised the prices."

He narrowed his eyes at her request, his hands tightening in annoyance as he balled them. She had some gall to demand more from him after he had taken pity on her before and then forced him to wait five weeks for another bottle.

"I really don't care," he curtly responded, entirely unsympathetic to her troubles. She lowered her head and avoided his eyes, looking as if she had been punched in the face. It didn't make him feel any worse; it was not his problem. Nobody ever took sympathy on him when he was late with what he promised.

"I'll pay you what _I_ think it's worth," Black reminded her, his eyes narrowed from her to the bag she held, "speaking of which..."

Erron grabbed the bag of coins from Tama and started to pocket several coins, leaving her with a pittance. He watched her face fall in despair when he gave her what was left in the bag of coins and took the sack from her grasp.

"For making me wait."

Complete and utter animosity grew on her face and she scowled relentlessly at him, "You bastard," she seethed, before she turned her back to him, stormed out, and closed the door behind her with a sharp slam.

He scoffed indifferently at her as he looked in the bag, saw that the whiskey she owed was there and began to walk back inside before he saw Tama giving him a look of disapproval.

"You got something to say now?" Erron questioned firmly, "Let's hear it, then."

"Nothing. Just feel bad for the poor girl," the older woman told him, nodding in the direction the bartender left. Her brown eyes scrutinized him, as if waiting to see if she elicited a response out of him. Much to her disappointment, the only one that she was able to get was Black walking casually by her without a word.

Black chewed the inside of his cheek as he headed back to his room and replayed each encounter he had with the girl in his head with more and more distaste the more he contemplated if he could have handled each situation better than he had.

* * *

Norah walked into the tavern to see her father waiting her with an anxious and horrified expression on his face. He looked at her, hoping that she had some good news to deliver to him, but all she could do was shake her head and lift the small, practically empty bag in her hand. Her father sighed with a mixture of frustration and grief as he ran his hands over his face.

"Did Shin… has he…"

He nodded his head, confirming her worst fears. Norah pulled the chair nearest to her and sat down as a dark wave of dread washed over her. She felt something touch her thigh and looked down and saw her own hand was trembling.

They were in trouble.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 **   
**Erron Cassidy and the Reptile Kid**

* * *

The Outworld cowboy yawned clandestinely beneath his facemask as he continued to sit through the Kahn's dinner meeting that failed to hold his full attention. Around the ornate stone table were the usual occupants, as well as the cup-bearers who stood off to the side against the wall that looked about as enthralled as he was.

Kotal Kahn sat in his throne at the end with Ferra and Ermac flanking both sides while Erron sat across from Reptile at the end—the usual seating for their dinners, unless there was a feast or the Emperor chose to eat his meals in his room in which they would do the same.

Black stared in disgust, his lip curled up as he watched the Zaterran guard pull apart the piece of raw steak and chewed it loudly. Usually such an uncouth display wouldn't bother him, but today the ex-Earthrealmer had no patience due to the hangover that battered his skull and appetite.

Reptile motioned for the young male servant behind to refill his cup by jerking his head roughly at it. The acute gunslinger half-noticed the cup-bearer flick a speck of blood off his cheek that sprayed from Reptile's treatment of the steak with a spark of humor that almost clouded his deadpan expression. The servant filled his cup and took his place against the wall as Ermac droned on about the damage to the aqueducts.

The only thought that crossed in the gunslinger's head was the wish he was in his room; the only place he could find solitude from the pounding headache he was paying for from yesterday. Still, despite the amount he consumed, he replayed the encounter with the girl from yesterday.

He would never verbally admit that she had gotten under his skin with guilt, and its continued persistence picked at his brain like a splinter he couldn't remove no matter how much booze he endorsed into his system.

Frankly, he didn't care that he had upset her—he had clear-cut reasons for withholding wages from her— but there had been something in her dejected demeanor and the way she had reacted to his payment that stirred faint remorse within him after she had left. Her reaction seemed to go beyond just being pissed off about the money—or lack of. It was unannounced, but he could tell there had been more riding on his decision. Perhaps it was because he had seen it and _still_ decided to short-change her was what caused him to rethink later in his room.

The corner of his mouth tugged indignantly. There was no way to go back and change it, so he needed to get over it—just like she would. The mercenary still couldn't fathom why he was still so hung up on it. Maybe it was the alcohol.

He lifted his hat slightly with his hand, rubbed his temples and tried to focus on something else— perhaps the meeting he was supposed taking part in.

Black caught the Emperor looking at him with a dismissive frown but continued his discussion. Something about the importance of eliminating the remaining rebel forces that continued to fight without Mileena's presence; a few Tarkatan rebels left on the board that were still causing grievances through Z'unkarah.

Reptile offered a theory that Tanya had taken the reigns after Mileena's death, but the construct next to him rebuked it and suggested that it was Rain. In the end, the Emperor had shot down both of their theories; last they had heard, both Edenians were trying to keep a low profile and wouldn't commit any acts of blatant sabotage. Meanwhile, Ferra played with the food on her plate; flicking it around with her fingers and looked about as bored as Black was. This discussion had been repeated in the past dinner throughout the week and both guards seemed to long for a better conversation topic.

"Rumor is that the cowards have fled from the Kuatan Jungle to the Wastelands," Reptile informed his emperor with a wave of his hand, "Let them rot in the heat."

Kotal Kahn nodded; but closed the fist that lay on the table, "We must banish any uncertainty. I am concerned they will repeat their attempts with more desperation."

"The food storages and aqueducts are heavily guarded as of now," Ermac's multiple voices assured, "We will make sure they stay so."

The Osh-tekk replied with a minute half-smile, content with the answer. He sat back in his chair and raised a hand to rub the underside of his chin as he silently contemplated on what his next actions should be.

"Reptile, Erron Black."

Both addressed individuals turned toward their emperor, an expectant eyebrow on the marksman's face raised at him.

"It would please me if you were to quell the rumors of the Tarkatan Wastelands."

"With pleasure, Ko'atal," Reptile instantly replied with eagerness.

Erron Black simply nodded his head in compliance as he noticed Ermac's emerald eyes grow faintly brighter in distaste upon hearing the proclamation.

Erron didn't mind being handed the assignment, maybe some time away from the city would help clear his head. It was unspoken, but known, that Ermac and the Zaterran had full responsibility over the apprehension of the rebels and the two Edenians that allied with him, leaving Ferra/Torr and the gunslinger to deal with other considerable issues in the capitol. However, it was also known that Ermac and Reptile seldom saw eye to eye with other even if they belittled each under a disguise of professional civility. Perhaps it was because Kotal Kahn knew it himself, or he just felt like it, but maybe it was best if the two guards took a break from one another.

However, he could tell that the thousand of souls had something to say, all of them most of feeling as if it was an indirect demotion, but nevertheless, remained silent.

With no objection, Kotal dismissed them shortly after, letting them retire to their room which Erron was thankful for.

Finally, a distraction and an acceptable excuse to get out of Z'unkarah where he could hopefully leave his thoughts behind.

* * *

Erron descended the steps of the palace, dusk starting to blanket the desert city, with his rifle on his back as well as a few provisions in the satchel he dug out of the trunk. He saw Reptile already waiting for him impatiently at the bottom of the stairs with a few Osh-Tekk warriors, no doubt plucked at random. Black could tell that the scaly humanoid looked about as eager to escape the palace as much as he was. The nimble hunter loved the hunt as much as a bear loved spawning season.

"Let us go," Reptile hissed at him before he turned on his heels with the 5 Osh-Tekks following behind him, leaving Black to take the rear. Already, he was starting to regret being paired with Reptile and the location wouldn't help much either. The Tarkatan Wastelands were miserable, hot and empty, and he was not looking forward to spending the next couple of weeks among guards and an ill-tempered Zaterran on foot. However, it was a job and he was not one to complain if his compensation was more than fair.

They walked through the marketplace that the gunman noticed began to dwindle with activity and the ones that were still out and about, moved quickly out of the way for them as Reptile led them through the street.

Inwardly, he cursed at the other Kahn's guard for the elected direction he led them through when he saw the tavern that housed his irritated female employee. Black did his best to ignore the structure but felt his curious eyes drift of their own accord towards the damn rundown hut he hated. He mustered a glance in its direction, thinking of just sneaking a peek once before shutting the idea of the place out of his head for the next few weeks

When he saw what was happening outside of the door of the tavern, he had the feeling he was going to regret for weeks not keeping his eyes down.

The bartender stood inside the door, guarding the entrance as two debt collectors towered over her; Black couldn't help but notice the smaller brother was nowhere in sight.

He recognized Rhen from the back, and unconsciously found himself start to slow his pace when he saw him gesturing his hands at her in a furious manner. He was too far away in the marketplace to decipher what exactly he was screaming about, but just by his body language alone; he could tell that completely enraged at her about something other than a late payment.

Through the blockade of bodies at her door, he spotted the bartender looking as if she was trying her best to put on a strong façade but could see how frightened she was as she shrunk under the impertinent Outworlder in front of her.

Obviously, something had happened, and they wanted to take it out on them, usually in Outworld that didn't bode well. His thoughts drifted back to yesterday, when he had given her a pittance in return for her lateness. Now he understood why she had been as upset as she had been. Still, a deal was a deal and she had not delivered. Between the both of them, he was the one that had honored the agreement and felt that there should be no remorse for his actions. Still, it took effort on his part to swallow that conclusion when he saw the outcome of his actions displayed in front of him.

She saw him and their eyes connected for what felt like a nefarious eternity to him.

Erron narrowed his eyes in return to the hateful look of recognition he saw from her, mirroring her own feelings of resentment towards her, but after a moment, she regarded him with a look he had never seen before.

Her eyes softened as she pleaded at him with a look of ashamed desperation and it nearly made his stomach sick with guilt. She looked like a wounded dog begging for help.

 _"It's none of your business …"_ he thought to himself.

Rhen must have noticed that she was ignoring him because suddenly her head snapped to the side, a small cry of pain escaping he even heard despite the distance when Rhen backhanded her across the face.

A familiar image resurfaced from Black's memory that had unconsciously made him grip the handle of his revolver in anger. The single action, and that she had unfortunately looked like someone from his past, was enough to open his personal Pandora's box, as he felt a wave of uncharacteristic empathy towards her surface. It clouded his judgement, blinding him to the man Outworld had turned him into, as he turned on his heels towards the tavern on the fuel of his briefly resurfaced and bitter memory.

"Black! Why have you stopped?"

The indignant bark from the Zaterran was enough to snap Black out of his atypical stupor as he turned to see the Osh-Tekk Warriors and Reptile waiting for him and curiously displeased about Black impetuous halt.

He turned away from them momentarily to see she was staring as well. Her green eyes hardened by the seconds awaiting his decision ticked by restlessly. He noticed they slid over towards the group of enforcers before pointedly going back to him almost as if in impudent challenge.

_We both know where your priorities lie…_

Her silent and scathing scrutiny stabbed him in the gut with bitter abashment, and for a fleeting moment, he considered ignoring Reptile and assisting her.

 _"You gotta a job to do..."_ he reminded himself firmly.

His hand left the revolver, and he looked to Reptile, nodded and started to walk back towards them. He heard Reptile huff and Black tried to ignore the stare he felt burning at the back of his head.

He was a distance away but when Erron looked back, he could still see her give him a minuscule and enraged nod at him. He could almost hear her voice calling out to him through the gesture as if telling him to 'run along you son of a bitch'.

Black rolled his shoulders forward and shook his head, his eyes narrowed sternly in the direction he was heading. _"It ain't none of your goddamn business…"_

He walked and caught up to the group and allowed himself one last look only to see all three of them had disappeared.

Erron caught up to the group and tried not to speculate any further, doing his best to keep his thoughts focused on the weeks ahead.

* * *

**_2 Weeks Later..._ **

Turned out the Tarkatans were not a rumor and had been camping out in the vastness of the Wastelands for some time. Unfortunately, that was about all the information that Reptile and Black were able to capture after weeks of interrogation and walking in the desert.

It seemed that many of the folks they had interrogated were displeased with being harassed by the group of Tarkatans, that everyone they had encountered were extremely cooperative. They didn't have much information to go on where the group could be. Just stories of their encounters that provided little to help them. It left them trying to pick up a cold trail until they came to their first stroke of luck.

They had found two small girls, both close to ten years of age, from recently reconstructed Sun Do. Both had huddled down in a small cave after they had been ambushed two days ago— losing their mother and father in the process while trying to protect them. After they had got over the understandable fear of them, they were more than eager to tell them as best as they could where they were attacked.

The Osh-Tekks traveled with the girls in the desert to the cantina they had stopped in a couple of days ago to rest and restock their supplies after a small discussion about what to do with them. The girls seemed pleased to go with the guards since the only other option— which was Reptile's idea— was to kill them.

Black was left alone in the cave that they had found the girls in, while Reptile volunteered to scout the area; it was the midday sun, and the Zaterran wanted the warmth. Erron didn't mind; he really didn't want to trek in the desert at its hottest anyway and took solitary comfort in the shade.

After a couple of hours, he leaned on the wall of the cave and absently spun the cylinder of one of his revolvers, checking every slot to make sure he had bullets in boredom. He lifted the hat off his head and wiped the brow with the palm of his hand and felt his nose twitch at the sudden, repugnant smell that entered the cave. He always knew when Reptile was skulking around in his camouflage no matter how sneaky the lizard man thought he was; the smell was always a dead giveaway, but he refrained from telling the scaly guard for fear of provoking the already intolerant Zaterran.

"What you find?" Erron asked, clicking the cylinder back into place and walking towards his fellow Kahn'g guard as Reptile materialized and addressed him with a scowl

"They are not far from here—a small enough group that can be eliminated with just the two of us."

The gunslinger nodded lightly. Finally, something to do. Just one quick job and they could leave this barren hellhole.

"Sounds fine to me," Erron replied, twirling his gun back into the holster and letting Reptile lead the way.

* * *

An hour later they reached the cave where the small group of Tarkatens were currently camped. Just as Reptile had said, small enough that it wouldn't be a problem between Erron's guns and the Zaterran's stealth. Black couldn't help but frown slightly. All this just for a few rebels that could be picked off in 5 minutes. This was almost as waste of his abilities. He wasn't sure if Reptile agreed with him, it was always difficult to decipher when he always held on to his cantankerous disposition no matter what. Although, knowing the Zaterran long enough, the bounty hunter could see he also felt his time wasted.

Both emperor guards counted the 12 Tarkatens in silence, all of them occupied outside the tall rocky cutout of a small stone cliff that was only shallow enough to provide coverage from the sun. By the looks of it too, they were finishing off the scraps of the girls' parents and beginning to settle in.

From their vantage point, which was right above them, they could tell the rebels seemed content in their ignorance that nobody would find them and let their guard down for the most part. There were originally 13, but Reptile had taken care of the single guard that was currently decomposing behind them.

Black frowned, "This is all of them?"

Reptile smirked maliciously, "Yes, a pity there are not more."

"Not what I meant," Black replied, the corner of his mouth tugging with suspicion, "Seems like too small of a group to cause any real trouble."

"We have found no other trail," Reptile hissed impatiently, "These must be the ones."

"I ain't buying it," Erron Black doubted, shaking his head.

"It matters not. Wait for my signal," Reptile told him. The marksman kept his eyes down below even after he heard him slip away into the air. After a moment of letting his fellow guard depart, Black decided to make his way down from the top of the cave, wanting to get closer when Reptile decided to make his first move.

He retreated down and crouched behind a boulder while he watched, unholstering his firearms with his thumbs on the hammers. Suddenly, one of the guards that had his back to him, struggled silently as his hands clutched at his face. Trying to pry invisible claws before a quick snap to the neck killed him.

Erron noticed Reptile's footprints in the sand as he moved towards the next Tarkatan that could be killed in silence, and like the other one, gave him also a quick snap of the neck.

One of the Tarkatans stirred from his meal when he felt something amiss. Throwing the mangled remains of a woman's arm away, he looked around and quickly spotted saw his fellow Tarkatans lying dead. He barked out what he saw, and the others sprung up; arm blades unsheathed as they looked around for their assassin. One of the Tarkatan's head snapped to the side as if a bolt of lightning struck him, and he choked and gurgled up blood before dropping dead to the sand; his throat slashed and red with claw marks.

While the Tarkatans wiped their heads in every direction, looking for who was picking them off, they had unknowingly formed into a circle that was perfect for the marksman for one reason.

Something dropped in the middle of them, and they all whirled around to see a small glass orb with sand within it lying harmlessly between them all.

"What—"

_Bang!_

Sand blinded them, and they cried out in anger, all of them stumbling around in a blind rage, as Black and Reptile finally revealed themselves and attacked.

Reptile emerged with an excited snarl and set to work, picking off the first that were still trying to wipe the sand from their eyes, while Black started to gun down the others. It didn't take long for the Tarkatans to recover, and they quickly retaliated.

An arm blade hooked for Black's head that he quickly ducked out of the way from, the blade soaring over the top of his hat, as Erron grabbed the back of the Tarkatan's wrist, pinned his arm to its chest and shot the Tarkatan point-blank in the face.

Another jumped towards him, and Black shot him as he flew towards him— he was dead before he even hit the ground. The gunslinger heard another one growl behind him and turned on his heels to see him charging him from a distance, his arm blades extended in a show of barbarous aggression.

Black, almost lazily, rolled a sand grenade and shot it, blinding the Tarkatan who ran into its path. The mercenary, using his opposite hand slammed the hammer back, pulled the trigger and watched as he fell backward, a new hole added to his horrendous face. It's an improvement, the gunman thought humorously to himself.

Suddenly, his legs were taken out from under him causing him to land on his stomach with a grunt. Erron rolled quickly out of the way as two arm blades came down onto the sand where he was. Lying on his back, Erron aimed and fired, hitting the Tarkatan expertly between the eyes. The rebel hit the ground in front of him, his head a mangled mess that stained the sand.

Black quickly jumped back to his feet and noticed that one of the Tarkatans had Reptile in a choke hold. The Zaterran spat angrily as he tried to free himself but stilled when he noticed Erron aim his revolver and quickly shot at the Tarkatan's kneecap. He howled in pain as his knee buckled instantly from the wound. It caused him to loosen his grip and it enough for Reptile to bring his arm back, cup behind the Tarkatan's other knee and send him flying onto his back.

Reptile hovered over the Tarkatan and instantly heaved and spilled venom in his toothy face. The Tarkatan clutched his face as his flesh sizzled off, letting out a gargled scream before it tapered into a gargled yell, and his movement went slack; dead within seconds from the acid.

Reptile rolled off, nodded his thanks in Black's direction then leaped in the air, landing on another Tarkatan and pinned him to the ground while the Zaterran clawed at his face, ripping whatever he could grab with ferocity.

Erron heard movement behind him and glanced over his shoulder to see another try to skewer him in the back. Black slid out of the way, got behind him and pistol wiped him across the back of the head once, twice and the third time aimed the gun at his head and fired.

There was one last Tarkatan that was fleeing on foot that Black finished off with a single bullet to the back of the head without even taking the time to aim properly; he could have done the shot in his sleep. He heard groaning to his left and found one of the Tarkatans nearly-fatally wounded, Reptile's claw marks all over his torso and face but still clinging barely to whatever seconds of life he had left.

"There anymore of you?" Black questioned apathetically.

The Tarkatan cursed at him and Erron Black responded by shooting him in the kneecaps. He howled in pain and glared at the human, gurgling on an answer that Black couldn't make out. From his twisted, infuriated features, both guards could tell he was spewing venom instead of answering the question.

"That a no, then?" Black asked sarcastically.

The Tarkatan died a few seconds after that, with nothing more than one last scowl and a wheezy discharge of breath, leaving them without any clue if there were any more rebels in the Wastelands.

Black sighed irritably, unsure whether they would continue to remain in the Wastelands after this point with no other leads. Reptile seemed to come to the same conclusion as the gunslinger and snarled in the Tarkatan's direction as if cursing him, as he stepped over him and walked away from the former Earthrealmer. Black holstered him weapons and placed his hands on his hips as he surveyed the wastelands before him, before the sound of bones snapping behind caused him to glance over his shoulder. He turned just in time to see Reptile ripping an arm off from one of the dead Tarkatans and shoving it into his mouth as if it was a turkey leg.

Reptile noticed that he was staring at him and snarled at the disgusted and questionable eyebrow Erron Black lifted at him.

"What?" Reptile growled before sinking his teeth into the arm once again, blood dripping to the hot sand underneath him. The bounty hunters only reply was to roll his eyes at his fellow Kahn's guard as he began walking back in the direction of the desert cantina the Osh-tekk were waiting for them with Reptile eating behind him.

* * *

It took another week to reach Z'unkarah and by the time they did, Black was exhausted but content to be back in the capitol city and back to his mundane comforts. After they had briefed Kotal Kahn on the events in the Wastelands, the Emperor, while pleased that more Tarkatan rebels were dead, frowned on the little reward expending his lieutenants efforts for the past three weeks came to; it had a been a waste of time in the long-run—Erron could have begrudgingly told him that before they sent them into the desert. The Kahn dismissed them shortly after their report and granted them reprieve from their duties until he had need of them again.

Black walked back to his room with tired strides bouncing off the palace walls, the only sound greeting him back as his thoughts unwelcomingly ventured back to the tavern despite refusing to pass it on the way back. His memory flooded back as quickly as a rattlesnake bite the moment he returned to the city, and it aggravated him to no end—it even made him want to venture back to the Wastelands with haste.

Fortunately, the weeks in the desert did help him clear his mind off her, and he wasn't as worried about what had happened at the tavern as he once was while under the scolding blaze of the relentless sun. However, upon returning, his regret came back with full force, as if it had been waiting impatiently for him to set foot back to where is problems originated. He had never known himself to get so hung up on somebody that didn't mean shit to him. It was aggravating and no matter how many callous and indifferent thoughts of reason he rebuked at his remorse, he still had difficulty silencing it.

He felt the corner of his mouth tug briefly up in irritation as he reached his door, pausing before opening it. Maybe when he went inside, and see the weeks of packages from the girl, his little melodrama would turn out to be something he annoyingly had nothing to worry about in the first place.

He opened the door to his room to find only an empty table and his displaced concern for the tavern girl buzzed around him like a gnat that refused to leave him be. He grumbled under his face mask, his eyes lingering towards the bed that called his name. He sincerely considered just going to lay down, he had been looking forward to his bed since entering the Tarkatan Wastelands. The astute mercenary knew unfortunately, that the moment he laid down, sleep would never come to him unless he quelled his restless cogitation. Perhaps, just popping in for a moment would suffice it enough to quiet it and never reflect on it again. Still, he couldn't help but perceptively speculate that it was gonna be a long ass night.

* * *

Night had descended long after his arrival back to Z'unkarah, and despite the thick, charcoal darkness Black already noticed more unsavory characters starting to creep out like hyenas emerging for their nightly stalk. One even had made the unfortunate mistake of trying to pit pocket him and received three broken fingers for the effort. Regardless of some of the cretins that tried to crawl into his money purse, Erron rather quite enjoyed Z'unkarah at night. He was more accustomed to dangerous folk, fitted in with them more than the happy plebeians of Outworld, and their tastes for the amusing depravity were more in tune with his. He didn't care for certain bottom-dwelling activities, actions that were universally unacceptable, he just liked to raise a little hell.

However, he was too tired this night and therefore wasn't quite in the mood. He constantly questioned his motivations for venturing out to see if the bartender was still alive or not. He settled with the connotation that their bargain was not over, and he was checking on his employee's well-being to make sure he got his alcohol. It was better than admitting that he was worried about _her_. Black scoffed at the idea. He didn't give a shit about her; she was nothing more than a faceless wonderer among a sea of nobodies that he passed by daily. On top of her unremarkableness, she was a pain in the ass and hadn't done anything to earn the sentimental thoughts—especially from the Kahn's contract killer. The only reason he cared if she was still there was so he could get a drink after he got done dealing with all this tediousness.

Speaking of unremarkable, he finally reached the mundane tavern, and noticed it was as dark and barren as a haunted mausoleum in a bleak graveyard. It was enough to raise a red flag; he had expected to find some source of light, but it looked as if it hadn't been open in days.

The gunslinger stepped inside the building, finding it odd that the door was unlocked until he stepped inside to find not only was the place a mess, but had been looted as well; the only thing left being a couple of wooden legs from broken chairs. His boots crunched glass beneath his heavy, leather boots as he surveyed the empty disarray. With the rich, pearl colored brightness of the moon pooling inside from the open door, the mercenary was able to make out two dark stains on the wooden floor of the cantina that he was certain hadn't been there last time he stopped by. A frown decorated his face behind his mask at them; despite the darkness, his trained eye recognized the stains as dry blood.

_"Guess she wasn't bein' melodramatic."_

Erron's eyes landed on the doors that led to the kitchen and decided to investigate further. He really didn't need to see the entire place to understand she wasn't around anymore, and that their deal was immediately void since she no longer housed a facility with his wants, but curiosity made him push the door to the kitchen open. Unsurprisingly, it had also been a part of the looting and whatever scuffle had taken place. Small remnants of flour were spilled everywhere along with broken bottles, pans while the cabinet with their food stock glared emptily back at him.

More moonlight spilled out of a haphazard door that lay on its hinges, hinting to an outside garden beyond. As he walked to exit it, he took note of another door that was closed to the left of him.

He pushed open the garden door with a small shove of his hand, the hinges of the door squeaking painfully at him as he surveyed the dying herb garden and a large dome-shaped ceramic bread oven that was as cold as the desert night was. He saw a laundry line running adjacent to him that hung limp, and when he turned his head, noticed a small stone sticking out of the ground like a tombstone.

Curious, he walked towards the old marker and the patch of disturbed dirt that sat unevenly in front of it; someone had recently dug up the grave. He nudged the dirt absently with the tip of his boot and looked back to the tombstone. He noticed it looked abnormally crooked; as if it had also been moved and placed uncaringly back again.

Erron walked towards it and pulled it side to side with his hand, confirming that it had been tampered with— it was far too loose. He bent his knees and lifted the slab, finding it lighter than he thought it would be, and put it to the side. He saw a glint in the dirt and crouched, moving away dirt with his fingers to see a bronze coin buried underneath the earth. His bare fingers traced the engravings of the Outworld coin as he expressionlessly wondered if it was one of the coins that he had given to her through one of their transactions.

He rolled it over in his fingers for a moment, his blue eyes returning to the tombstone briefly and then back to the coin as he understood why the grave-marker had been loose and pocketed the coin; obviously the grave served as a hiding place for spare change.

The mercenary heard something fall from inside, and his hand shot to his revolver out of instinct. He moved towards the sound with a hand on his hip and walked towards the unknown source of the sound. Expecting an intruder, he walked back into the kitchen and relaxed when he saw a pan rock back and forth and a rat run out when it discovered it was not alone. Black raised an eyebrow before he eyeballed the door that he noticed on the way in, grabbed the handle and pushed himself inside after the rat had scurried off.

His eyes squinted in the darkness to see a small office with two cots on either side of them room. Black noticed that one side had books hiding underneath the cot and figured it must have belonged to her since he had seen her reading the first time they met; besides the presence of the books, her side was bare. He was almost surprised that they remained until he remembered the illiteracy of most of Outworld's common folk.

Striding towards the pile of books, he heard a creak underneath his boot. The gunman peered down and nudged the loose floorboard he stepped on with his foot. Crouching. Erron pried it up to find whatever was in the floorboards had already been emptied out; leaving nothing but a small wooden box behind, yet another hiding spot for money. Black walked around the rest of room and saw nothing really of value and made the decision that he had overstayed his welcome.

The mercenary exited the barren tavern with a heavy head as he placed his hands on his hips and chewed the inside of his cheek.

It turned out he had been wrong to assume that it had been nothing to worry about; that her desperation was legit. It made him feel like shit in a way, but he couldn't help but feel that despite it, it was still none of his business. The only hand he played was that he didn't help her out to begin with, her situation with not paying her bills on time was her own grievance. It wasn't enough to make him feel solely responsible for their deaths. Still, knowing he had the capability that he could have killed the debt collector by just raising his gun and shooting him in the back of the head still nagged relentlessly at him. It shouldn't though, and perhaps it was him not understanding why it did, was what was bothering him the most.

 _"She's dead now. Time to move on,"_ he thought frankly. While he was content with his crass inclination, still couldn't fully swallow it and go about his night. Perhaps it was because there was no absolute proof that was bothering him, though he was reticent to admit even to himself that was the case. Or perhaps what was truly bothering him was that he had an opportunity to find out for sure as the gunslinger noticed a familiar face with a torch was currently making his rounds.

The Outworld leerie didn't seen him standing outside the abandoned tavern, too preoccupied with his occupation, but Black knew they were friends; he had seen her talking to him when the mercenary had come in the middle of the night to threaten the girl. If anyone had any indication to her whereabouts, it would be him. As far as he knew, she had no one else.

Still, the selfish bounty hunter fought with his internal debacle that questioned his character. Why did he care so much about what happened to her? Was it just boredom on his part? It had to be. Otherwise, why did he give a shit? Curiosity never really got the best of him; he got on with his day without a care for others. And he refused to admit to himself that he felt responsible, he couldn't allow himself to think so pathetically about himself.

Whatever the case, it remained an enigma to him as he sunk into the shadows of the alleyway, and waited for the lamp-lighter to approach closer.

* * *

As Guang hummed quietly though the derelict area of the marketplace, suddenly found his heart trying to jump from his chest when he felt a strong, forceful hand grab the back of his neck and yank the older man into the empty darkness of an alleyway he was passing by. The old Outworlder cowered under the unfortunate fear of suddenly being attacked possessing him, as he dropped his things as his attacker used the length of his muscular forearm to pin him to the wall.

As regained himself, the leerie found himself staring up at the Earthrealm killer, Erron Black, and couldn't suppress the fearful huff of breath that escaped from his parted lips. The man towered about him with a unreadable disposition, looking over him blandly as if simply waiting for Guang to collect himself. The native Outworlder regarded him with confusion and he swallowed nervously at the mercenary, completely oblivious to what he could possibly want from him.

"I don't have any money to—"

"Shut up," Black interrupted sternly, finally speaking. "Where's your friend?"

The older man blinked. "I have a lot of friends— you'll have to be more specific," Guang replied sheepishly, causing Black to glare in response to his sarcasm. Perhaps he could have given the gunslinger a better answer.

"Your friend who works in the tavern, idiot," Black clarified impatiently, and despite the mask, Guang could sense the irked scowl underneath.

A grim disposition crossed over Guang's face when he understood he was referring to Norah. In all honesty, the older man was surprised that he was even bringing her up. From what Norah had told him, the bounty hunter had shown her no compassion towards her very existence, and clearly thought of her as nothing more than a nuisance. It adamantly surprised him now, he had the very same heartless man question him about her.

He brushed aside his thoughts, remembering that he had a rather dangerous individual interrogating him, and answered him with a despondent frown: "Gone.".

"Dead?" Black asked him, sounding more curious than concerned. For a hallucinogenic second, Guang could of sworn he heard a degree of hopefulness in the gunslinger's voice— as if he wanted to find out she was dead— and the Outworld lamp-lighter found himself growing increasingly angry by it. So, Norah hadn't been exaggerating when she told him how soulless he was.

"Half when I found her, but no— she is alive. At least she was when she left," he informed him solemnly, but his eyes bored into him with heated suspicion about his empathy. "When I did my rounds through the market a couple of weeks ago, I found her in the tavern barely clinging to life, but her father was not as fortunate as she was."

Black narrowed his eyes at him as he released his hold on him. Still, the older man remained glued to the wall as Erron Black didn't reply. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked like he was trying to piece together the story. Guang was not sure, maybe it was the face mask and the imposing persona, but it looked as if he wasn't that concerned about her well-being, but more so content with the answers he gave him.

"My wife did what we could for her as far as her wounds were concerned but the poor thing barely said anything," Guang continued, starting to get annoyed with Black's blank expression. "We let her know she was welcome to stay with us, but Norah can be very proud and stubborn. She saw herself as a burden to us which she most certainly wasn't and vanished one day. Truthfully, though, I believe she wanted to be alone to mourn."

A simple 'hmm' was Black's reply and his indifference to her situation angered the older man. Norah was someone he cared for dearly— he had known the girl since she was a small child and even thought of her as one of his own, and as any father would, felt indignation towards anyone that caused anyone he loved harm or pain. Norah had told him she had seen Black the day she was attacked by Rhen, and how he wanted to help, but perhaps the girl had seen something impossible, and all the spiteful words she had told him about Erron Black had been truth. He could tell the mercenary had cared— why else would he be here asking about her— but had chosen to act selfishly with regard for only himself. Even is curious, it was obvious to Guang that he cared only about his own self-interest.

"She spoke of how you had the opportunity to aid her and did nothing," Guang spat suddenly at him, narrowing his eyes accusingly. It caught Black's attention, and he met his stare with a hard glare of his own.

"Is that so?" Black asked, a small trace of chagrin in his voice.

"Oh yes," Guang said, happy that the arrogant mercenary was offended by him. "She did have plenty of things to say about you— none too friendly— and as far as I'm concerned you are as much to blame for her situation."

A brief image of Black pulling out his guns and shooting him in the head had crossed into Guang's mind (maybe he had went to far). However, the Kahn's guard simply regarded him with a unmoved demeanor filled with slight disdain before he simply turned his back to the old man, acting as if he had not even heard his last declaration.

While he exhaled a sigh of relief, stooping down to collect his items that had been discarded, he noticed that Black began to walk in the direction of the palace. The Outworlder scoffed angrily, knowing by just the direction alone how much Black could care less about what he had told him— as if he hadn't said anything at all. Guang knew that he was capable, and it would have been no problem to track her down if the mercenary had wanted to. But he wouldn't, his guilt was truly non-existent.

The older man had always tried his best to look for the best in people, no matter how deplorable they seemed and despite what his realm had taught him. However, the rumors about the Kahn's contract killer's nature had been undoubtedly proven to the lamp-lighter.

Erron Black genuinely only cared about money and himself.


	5. Chapter 5

** Chapter 5   
** **What a Drag**

* * *

As the gunslinger had speculated, he found himself satisfied with what had happened to the girl after discovering what had occurred since his departure; his appetite to uncover the facts quelled his once turbulent thoughts, and he found himself getting on with his duties without interruption a week later. Albeit, he couldn't help but recant the sleepless night he had suffered through upon discovering she was still alive; his thoughts had kept him up and he regretted letting them get the best of him the next morning. He hadn't been certain if it was from merely being overly-exhausted, an ironic occurrence that happened every once in a while, or because he couldn't exactly envelope and put away the discussion with the older Outworlder that night.

_"She spoke of how you had the opportunity to aid her and did nothing and as far as I'm concerned you are much to blame for her situation."_

It still played in his head like a broken recording, but eventually, he was able to ignore its persistent tune until it was lost in the background noise of his more important duties. Regardless the reason why he was still thinking about those words— it really didn't matter anymore. Erron was compensated with the fact that he had paid his penitence with a single night of restless sleep. The bounty hunter adamantly refused from then on to think about her, the old man or what happened. Past was past. Like he had told himself countless times, it was none of his business, and he firmly reprimanded himself to start treating it as such. He certainly would miss the whiskey, though, it had certainly been the only highlight of the bargain.

However, regardless of the fact that he was satiated, and could move on from his troublesome domestic dilemma, there was still one person that refused to let the subject die. It had surprised the gunslinger just how aggravatingly relentless Tama had become since the girl's disappearance, and had continued to pursue him for answers about her well-being for an unclassified reason. Black had already told her what had happened, but she still would not drop the subject. In fact, after he had told her she seemed more adamant about suggesting Black go and find her. The moment the idea had left her lips, he had scoffed cynically at her and told her 'come back with coins.'

Erron frankly couldn't understand Tama's obsession over the bartender. What was the girl to her? It wasn't his problem. If Tama wanted her so badly, she could go find her. As far as he knew, she acted adverse to the girl the last time he had seen the two together. Plus, he hated the older Outworld woman and certainly wasn't keen on doing her any favors. Erron recalled asking why Tama was insistent and it turned out that one of her indentured servants had given birth and provided a vacancy in the kitchen.

 _Not my circus, not my monkeys._ He mused silently to himself as the Kahn's guard spun the cylinders of his revolver under the pillar while he watched the executions taking place in the Emperor's Courtyard; nothing special, just murderers and thieves. After a while, he had grown disinterested with beheading after beheading. It was one of his more monotonous assignments that he had to participate on a weekly basis and he always found himself succumbing to boredom. Irritably, there had been something new that had happened that day, when Ferra/Torr had stopped by and asked what had happened to the bread he used to get. He completely ignored them, and when they received no answer, stomped off. Would no one leave him alone about it? Now even the symbiotic pair were bringing up the subject? The girl was annoying him even without being around.

Speaking of annoying, when he saw Tama approaching him the marksman felt his lips press into a hard line from beneath his facemask. He had thought she had taken the hint the last time they spoke.

"Have you found her?"

The gunman crinkled his nose at her question, but continued to look at his revolvers; pretending as if she was not there. Even without having to look at her, he could still see the stern and disappointed face out the corner of his eye. It was almost as if she was just as tired of repeating the conversation as he was of hearing it. Erron finally looked up at her and mirrored her discontented disposition.

"I wasn't aware this was the way to your job," he commented intently. It was a subtle warning, underlined in his low tone; telling her to back off.

"I was meeting with someone," Tama answered, acting obtuse to his anger. "Answer my question."

Black sighed as he pushed himself from the wall to stand in front of the incessant palace worker. He had enough of this horseshit.

"I'm only gonna say this once: quit botherin' me."

The woman raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. "I will when you find her," Tama quipped, a cryptic smile on her face, "I'll even make it easy for you. I just saw her in the marketplace. It looked as if she was trading with the vendor that sells clothing by the fountain. She did not look well."

"And I care, why?" he snapped callously.

Tama frowned sternly at him, unappreciative of his cutting tone. "Perhaps so you can repay the debt you have hanging over your head," Tama bit back.

The corners of Erron's mouth twitched upwards from beneath his leather mask as he met her with a sour glare, "I don't owe shit."

Tama crossed her arms over her chest and flashed him with a dubious look, "Do you really believe that? I find that hard to trust after what you told me."

"The only thing I'm having a hard time _believing_ , is why you care so much?" Black responded.

"I have a position I need to be filled— that is all," Tama informed him plainly, "Just like you, I have a job to do."

"Then go find her already," Erron shot back with a roll of his eyes, his head motioning towards the exit, "You said it yourself, she's in the marketplace."

Tama frowned, her eyes drifting back and forth slightly as if she was trying to recall something, "I lost her in the crowd before I could speak to her."

Black narrowed his eyes, detecting her obvious lie. He could sense that that there was more to the story than Tama felt divulging to him. If she wanted the girl so badly found, she didn't necessarily need him and could have used a guard to go find her. There was something else going on, and he could see her weaving a malicious spider-web the more he spoke with her. Perhaps it was just to annoy him because she was aware of Erron's distaste for the servant and wanted to parade it around like a play to entertain herself with. Folks in Outworld had done odder things, but whatever it was she wanted from his services, he didn't particularly care or was in the slightest way interested enough to ask. Erron instead clicked the cylinder back into place, twirled his gun expertly and put it back into his holster.

"That's a shame for you then. I ain't your damn errand boy. You want me to find her so badly, then it'll cost you." he concluded sarcastically, turning away from her to plant himself against the pillar once more. Expecting their conversation to conclude there.

"How much?"

His eyes narrowed sharply in confusion as he turned back to her: "What?"

"How much would it cost for you to find her and bring her to me?" Tama asked, a sly eyebrow lifting at him.

He swallowed at her proposition as if he had gulped a rotten piece of food. He exhaled in irritation at her; he would not budge. "You can't afford it— so drop it."

"Just let me know what the price is and I'll tell you if I cannot afford it," Tama challenged, blasé to his rejection.

Erron narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously; if the woman wanted to bargain with him then so be it. Now that she had something of value, he couldn't help but consider it. Bounties had been running tight lately, even with the skirmish in the Tarkatan Wastelands, and a few more coins to line his pockets wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing. Especially if he was robbing the coin purse of the Outworlder that wouldn't leave him the hell alone. He'd make her regret it. If she wanted the girl that stubbornly then fine, he would bring her in. Even though he disliked the prospect of doing anything for the odious woman or dealing with the headstrong girl, he was more than done with Tama's persistent badgering. With all that in mind, he told her double the amount he usually charged for locating someone that wasn't a fugitive.

"5,000 gold pieces and a small deposit up front," Black smirked behind his mask, knowing she wouldn't have either.

He was wrong.

Tama barely batted an eyelash: "How wonderful. I will have spare change."

He couldn't help but watch resentfully as she smiled smugly and calmly fished out a large bag of coins that had been concealed in the basket of fruit and vegetables. She wanted for him to see she had it prepared and ready to go for him, and the realization of it sent a flash of annoyance through his veins. It had been her intention to recruit him since she had walked up to him. He didn't enjoy being used, or walking unknowingly into a scheme that he wanted no participation in. _He_ made the decisions on what he did, when and what time, and the only one that was exempt from his resentment was Kotal Kahn; the emperor paid him exuberantly not to ask questions. Being played, however, pissed him off to no end — money or no money.

She smirked lightly at him, almost as if she was able to telepathically read his thoughts, and grabbed his hand to place them in his palm. The coins were heavy in his hand and despite his mistrust for the woman, knew that she hadn't short-changed him; it would have been counterproductive on her part and they both knew it. The only way for him to do anything unquestionably was to play to his greed.

"A small deposit. I will have the rest of your money for you when you bring her by," Tama calmly notified as she passed.

Black just stood there; contemplating on giving the coins back. Instead, he found his callous hands gripping the bag of coins angrily in his hand. He must say, the woman was much craftier than he would have given her credit for. Didn't mean he wasn't still irked even if she was offering to pay him double, whether she knew the set amount or not. He had suspected that she was aware of his required amount, otherwise it was merely a improbable coincidence if she hadn't. He didn't believe in coincidence. It had been calculated the moment the girl stopped making her deliveries. Where did Tama even get all this money to begin with? It couldn't have fallen into her hands as easily as if it rained from sky. He wondered how much the woman had piled up, and if he should up the charge. Especially considering who he was retrieving.

The bartender wasn't nearly as dangerous as any of his other bounties, she didn't even fall into the same spectrum as the others. However, he could already predict that she would be the most troublesome one as of late. Black sighed irritably as he chewed the inside of his cheek. The bounty hunter could already picture the scenario running though his head: childish screaming, kicking and perhaps a slap or two. Sounds fun.

Erron looked up, his eyes threatening to roll into the back of his head. Regardless of the impending headache, it was a job and he would see it through. He had worked for worse and had brought in far worse. He should be happy about the prospect of easy coins. It wasn't a hard job.

"Goddammit..."

Didn't mean he was going to like it, though.

* * *

Black had waited for the last of the beheaded thieves' heads to roll before he departed to search for the bartender. It would be his last job for the day, and he sought to get it done as quickly as possible. He surmised it wouldn't take long to find her, and probably would by the time the sun hid beyond the horizon.

In the meantime, the midday bazaar bristled with activity as he approached the last of the clothing vendor.s left to interrogate As soon as the scrawny, teenage Outworld kid saw him approach, the gunslinger visibly noticed the boy hold his breath in terror. Erron noticed one of the other vendors at the stall had turned on his heel and briskly marched away as soon as he noticed the Kahn's guard come towards them, leaving his co-worker alone with the mercenary to fend for himself.

The older man towered over the child as he rested one of his hands on top of a blue, silk shirt and watched the boy gulp nervously. The gunman rose an eyebrow at the kid's spineless reaction to him. Yes, the cowboy did feel elation in getting the right reaction from him but found his exaggerated display a little too much. It was almost as if the kid was afraid that if he didn't oversell it, Erron would put a bullet in his head. At least it'll be easier to get answers.

"Don't piss yourself," Black scolded with a scoff, unmerciful to the boy's blubbering fear towards the ex-Earthrealmer. "You trade with anyone recently?"

"Uhhh..."

Black narrowed his eyes impatiently. "A girl. Where she go?"

Realization hit the kid's face, "Oh! She, um, went in the direction of the docks, I think. Smelled like fish, so I'm sure that's where she is. I-I don't know her name, though. Never gave it."

The outlaw tapped a finger on the silk shirt and studied the kid for a tell that he lied to him. When he saw none, nodded and left. The bodyguard heard the teenager let out a heavy sigh of relief as Black walked away.

As he continued in the direction towards the docks, the bounty hunter suddenly came to realize that this was one of the rare times he did not know the name of the person he was after. Erron knew that the older man he had questioned a week ago had dropped it in the conversation, but he couldn't recall what it was. Did it really matter though? She wasn't anything to him and it would only make his job the slightest more difficult if he couldn't find her with the fish. He hadn't cared to know what her name was even when they struck the deal; it hadn't been vital to their agreement. He also ignored the thought that maybe it was a little disrespectful he never did ask.

With a roll of his shoulders he pressed on, ignoring the last thought.

* * *

As the hired gun approached the docks, the smell of the ocean air did little to mask the putrid smell of fish guts and other unidentifiable oceanic fragrances. He never did like the docks and never cared for the taste of seafood. It had always been a natural aversion he had since he was young. Perhaps, it was because he was simply unaccustomed to it, or because he spent more than enough time on a boat travelling to grow a distaste for it. Regardless, he hated it.

By the time he had reached the docks, one of the more famous inglorious parts of the capitol, he noticed that most of the fisherman began to close shop for the day as they went to clearing their salt-damaged wooden boards with cleaning rags while other tied up their Junker ships that bounced precariously against the rotted wooden piers. Customers were still being served despite the wharf closing, as birds and rats scurried about looking for scraps amongst the pilings decorated with skulls.

As he moved off from the harbor, the descending sun to his back, he eyed the buildings that made up the downtrodden neighborhood. He moved around silently, trying to see if he could spy the irregularity to the male and prostitute dominated population. The gunslinger had to wonder why a woman would choose to come down here willingly if she didn't have to. Most of the ones that found themselves housed here were due to falling victim to undesirable personal circumstances. Being broke was a big factor for many, as the whores of the wharf began to pool out of their homes to beckon any fisherman eager to taste their bait. It wasn't a surprise that the area was littered with brothels, and it had been a long time since he had ventured down the same avenue of debauchery for himself. There were cleaner, and more expensive whores closer to the palace he had the coin for whenever he was in the mood.

Speaking of coin, he observed that they began to take notice of him more than any of the other potential buyers. He was quick to decline, replying with a smirk, and telling them 'Sorry, darling, working.' Most tried to persuade to take a few minutes off, and others had blasted him with harsh words that were certainly unladylike. Erron hadn't bothered asking any of them if they had seen her because he doubted the bartender would have associated with the likes of the feral hens on the docks.

With the stalls closing and most of them already closed, he found himself at a dead end for information. He honestly had no idea where she would venture off to at this hour and didn't know enough about her to figure out what her next move would have been. He spent another hour on the docks as night caked the area in blackness. It was pointless at this point, hell he didn't even want to be out here in the first place and settled with returning to the palace and resuming his search in the morning; unwilling to lose another night of sleep over the bartender.

He was already heading the in direction of the Kahn's palace, when out of sheer, dumb luck, he finally spotted a familiar black and ragged scarf lifted in a hood out of the corner of his eye.

He followed quietly behind the baggy-clothed figure oblivious to his presence. Even from the dirty and ratty clothes. He could tell the figure to be a woman. Black stalked in silence as she walked briskly through the streets; simultaneously trying to draw as little attention to the men around as she could. As Black followed, he had noticed a couple of dicey gentleman crow towards the figure with interest until they got near. Immediately, they back away and then turned their nose in disgust. It was only when Erron got closer did he discover why.

She reeked of fish.

It was the bartender.

Suddenly, the mercenary ducked into the shadows as his pursued looked behind her. She didn't see him, and he poked his head out, squinting in the darkness to reconfirm it was his target.

It was her and she looked worse than the last time he saw her.

The girl surveyed the darkness, glancing from detail to detail with suspicion as she licked the bottom of her dry and cracked lips. Despite the darkness, Erron could see her face had been sunburned by hours of standing outside in her new occupation. Obviously, they hadn't been paying her very good as he noted her malnourished appearance underneath the collection of green and purple bruises scattered along her skin. It also looked like she hadn't slept in days, and it was apparent not just because of the ragged expression she wore, but also from her bloodshot eye. It was hard to tell if her other eye was bloodshot due to the angry black and purple bruise that darkened her socket.

Her expression deadpan as she turned away and shrugged off her doubt of being followed and adjusted the leather messenger bag she had. Erron walked out of his improved hideaway and continued to follow her, somewhat curious as she led him into an alley between a disheveled and abandoned building that boarded the marketplace. Seeing that they were finally alone, he decided to make his approach.

He walked blatantly up to her, standing a few feet behind her and crossed his arms over his chest. He stopped where he was when she noticed the girl began to visibly slow her pace. He cleared his throat intently behind her, and as expected, she halted when she heard him. As the gunslinger waited for her to turn and acknowledge him, he saw her head crane slightly in his direction but not enough to see who was behind her.

Erron was quite surprised how quickly she managed to reach inside the cloth belt, pull out the same wooden knife she had on her the first day they met, whirl around and slash at him. The girl hit nothing but air in her defensive frenzy, and unfortunately for her, was not as quick as the hardened gunfighter.

He caught her wrist easily in a firm grasp as she immediately fought him viciously; kicking and screaming so much Erron didn't think she even knew who she was fighting. He applied bruising pressure to her wrist by digging his thumb into her pulse. When she refused to relent, he twisted her wrist, causing her to cry out in pain and let go of the knife; letting it fall to the sand harmlessly between them.

Her eyes shot up to her assailant and widened in recognition before they narrowed with seething hatred. Before he could say anything, she used her free hand and slapped him as hard as she could across his face.

It was enough force to jerk his head to the side and while it surprised him, it didn't hurt him as his mask took the brunt of her blow. Erron saw her hand come up for another slap until he caught her other wrist and pushed her roughly against the wall of the alley. The enraged woman grunted in pain when her back hit the wall but continued to fight him regardless; shrieking incoherently in frustration at him as he did her best to break from his hold. Black watched with a deadpan expression as she kicked and bucked, trying to get him to release her and instead waited coolly in silence. He was pleased it didn't last as long as he expected, and when she finally figured she was not going to break free, opted for glaring at him venomously through the strings of loose hair that had fallen from her bun. She bared her teeth like a caged animal at him, emphasizing her barbaric appearance even more.

"Happy to see me?" he asked with dry humor.

She spat at him like a cobra and Erron squinted when it landed in his right eye, disgustingly blinding him. _Good aim._

The bounty hunter let go of one of her wrists, moving to hold both in one tight grip against her chest with little difficulty, before he shot her an indignant look and wiped his eye with a finger.

"Quit it."

"Let go of me!" she demanded, jerking her wrists. He turned his face away as he caught another whiff her. She smelled heavily of body odor and fish, and he thought of letting her go for the smell alone.

"Then stop acting like a child," Erron replied sternly.

"Get your hands off me, you wretch!" she hollered, ignoring his request while she continued to pull unsuccessfully from his grip.

He clicked his tongue at her and told her with an almost teasing tone: "You can do better than that. Have at it."

Her eyes narrowed, insulted, "Burn in the Netherrealm!"

"There ya go," Black commented sarcastically. That was as far as the humor went for the both before she stopped struggling in his grasp. She hung her head in defeat, the iron clasp he had on her wrists and the wall, the only support that seemed to be holding her up.

"Why are you here?" she choked out, her words wavering like she was on the verge of sobbing, "Haven't you done enough to me?"

He shrugged, "I hardly did anything."

"Exactly… you did nothing…" her green eyes bored into him accusingly and he felt himself frown at her words. Erron looked her over, considering if he could trust her not to run off or not and decided to finally let her hands go.

She seemed surprised by it and instinctively brought her hands away from him and rubbed her wrists. The bartender avoided his eyes and instead looked at his boots, her chest rising and falling in anger and exhaustion as her ratty and dirty hair hung around her face like a curtain. He let her collect her thoughts and after a moment of silence, he saw her eyes glance to the knife that lay off to the side and then sharply back to him.

"Don't even think about it," he warned darkly.

She dove for it and he raised a boot to trip her which she easily stumbled over, causing her to land on the ground hard. She grunted when she fell but however still reached for the handle. Before she could grab it, his foot landed on her wrist, pinning her hand to the ground and earning a groan of pain that she muffled by putting her face into the sand.

The mercenary rolled his eyes in annoyance and sighed, "Knock it off."

She mumbled something inaudible into the sand, something scathing. He continued to keep the crushing pressure on her wrist before he added drolly: "As much fun as this is, you'll be coming along with me now."

Her face lifted from the sand, a thin layer a covering her sunburned face as she glared defiantly at him, "I am not going anywhere with you," she spat, her words trembling with rage.

"I ain't asking," The Kahn's guard told her nonchalantly, "Tama has a job for you. You think I'm out here out of sympathy?"

A small look of fear came across her face at Tama's name as she brushed the sand from her face with her free hand, "I have a job," she retorted weakly at him.

"Yeah, I can smell it," he acknowledged, his nose twitching from behind his face mask. She didn't reply to him and instead glowered at the boot he had on her wrist.

He sighed with exasperation; he was done toying around, "Get up. I'm tired of this shit."

Her head lifted to meet his eyes with a malicious expression, "I really don't care," she replied lowly, mocking the words he had once said to her back at him.

Erron gritted his teeth in behind his face mask at her words, impatience flashing through him as he lifted his foot off her wrist, grabbed her by the back of the collar and pulled her to her feet with an uncaring jerk. The girl bumbled across the sand, trying to find her footing as the gunslinger pressed on with her in tow like he was hauling a stubborn mule behind him; pulling at her collar every time she refused to keep up with him.

The bounty hunter stormed out of the alley and in the direction of the palace with her in unwillingly in his grasp while she fought back every stumble of the way. He felt her grab onto his wrist for support as he kept his stormy eyes glued in the direction of his destination.

Suddenly, after a few minutes of nothing but hearing her lumbering along, Black heard something rip and felt his arm go slack. Erron looked back to see her running in the opposite direction with the back of her dress ripped open, shoulder blade to shoulder blade, and left him holding on to the forgotten section of fabric in his hand.

"Dammit," he cursed as he threw the cloth to the ground with annoyance and ran after her.

She didn't get far from him when he bear-hugged her from behind and pinned her arms to her side. She let out a frustrated caterwaul and fought him as immediately as soon as he enclosed his arms around her. The bounty hunter whirled her around and sharply threw her back in the direction of the palace, letting her fall to the ground carelessly. She cried out as she landed face first and didn't get the opportunity to stand as Black grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her like a sack of flour across the sand.

Eventually the girl fumbled her way back to her feet as she continued to weakly fight against him, which Erron retaliated with an uncaring jerk every so often, earning a pained whimper as he lurched her forward.

As they neared the palace, he briefly noticed her weight go slack and felt teeth sink into his forearm just below the elbow before he got the chance to stop her. Erron's eyes narrowed in anger as he groaned in pain, took advantage that her scarf had fallen back around her neck in the scuffle and grabbed a handful of her hair with his opposite hand. She immediately released her bite from his arm and cried out in pain, her hands going instinctively towards her scalp and scratching at his hands. Erron frowned heavily when he released her wrist, holding her by her hair only, and noticed the blood dotted bite on his arm and scowled at her.

"Are you gonna be a pain in the ass the entire way?" he asked with an irritable sigh.

She still fought him, wiggling as much as she could with his hand painfully wrangled in her hair while she glared at him scathingly. The outlaw narrowed his eyes at her distempered look and responded by pulling back on her hair. It earned another pained yelp from her as her eyes scrunched together, and he felt her nails digging into his hands harder.

"I am not going with you!" she cried with a choked voice, realization seeming to sink in that she wasn't going to escape him.

"Yeah. You are," Erron glowered. He pulled her closer, his eyes boring dangerously into her. "I ain't playin' around. Now are you gonna come without a fuss or am I gonna have to get mean?"

He yanked slightly on her hair to illustrate his point, and she grimaced at him, "Take me to Tama and it will be even more of a reason for me to despise you."

Erron shot an indifferent look at her weak declaration, "Do I look like I care?"

Her eyes softened at him, still with a flicker of fear and resentment for him but pitifully begging now, "Please do not do this..."

He shook his head at her. It was always the same. First, they yelled, fought then they begged, and it didn't earn any pity from him because she was a woman.

"Ain't up to me," Erron pointed out with a shrug, "she's already paid."

She scoffed at him, her body trembling with rage as she scowled viciously at him. "Yes… we both know how much money means to you. I hope you die alone with your fortune."

The muscles in Erron's jaw clenched behind his face mask at her remark. He noticed it took every amount of patience he had to let go of her hair and grab her crushingly by her bicep to pull her along with him. He could feel her eyes on the back of his head, burning a hole into him with complete hatred, but he ignored it and pressed on. She walked along with him, and eventually began stumbling lazily almost in defeat and wincing in pain from his fingers digging into her arm. It wasn't until the palace came into view did, she panic and start to fight him again. Erron felt her jerk backward, trying to release his hold on her bicep and he pulled back hard.

Black released her as she stumbled forward and fell into the sand. With his enmity for her continuously present, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to her feet with her tiredly trying to keep up with his larger and faster paced strides. The Kahn's guard could feel the people that were lingering in the marketplace gawking at them, but he ignored them and continued to pull her along. As he dragged her across the market for all the residents to see he was having a difficult time recollecting a more aggravating time he dragged someone in for a bounty.

"You are hurting me," he heard her tell him, her voice laced with pain.

Instead, he dug his fingers purposely harder into her skin, causing her to hiss loudly.

"I said you were hurting me!" she called out to him, her voice heavy with anger. He felt her flap around like a fish on a hook, and it caused his fingers to loosen enough for her wiggle out of his grasp.

Erron expected her to run, but instead she just stared at him as she shrunk away from him. Her chest rose and fell as she waited in heated reluctance, looking at him like he expected her to lash out again. The thought had crossed his mind until he saw the red mark that encompassed her wrist and started to swell. He pinched the bridge of his nose that was hidden beneath his face mask, mostly in irritation rather than guilt, as he moved to grab her under her arm and pull her along; his grip still firm but not as harsh as it once was.

She didn't continue to fight him at that point, and he figured it was either because she accepted her fate or she was too scared of him to try any longer. Whatever the reason he didn't care.

As he approached the south entrance towards the servant's entrance, he passed by a very confused Osh-Tekk guard that opened the door for them when he saw the two of them. He led her through the laundry area and glanced back to see her defeated and tear-stained face silently staring at the ground. He ignored it, and led them through the laundry, through the gardens and finally to the door frame that Tama had been waiting under.

Erron halted and threw her towards Tama, the sudden and harsh throw causing her fall to her knees in front of her. She stayed on her position on her knees, looking thoroughly humiliated and angered.

The bounty hunter looked to Tama with a stern disposition, "As promised. Where's my money?"

Tama repressed a smile and jerked her thumb in the direction of the kitchen, "Waiting for you in your room, a pleasure doing business with you."

Black walked by the girl, gave a steely glance that she returned with as much animosity and stormed through the kitchen and to his room. Despite accomplishing his job, Erron still felt thoroughly exasperated as he marched through the palace. He scowled angrily behind his face mask and hoped the girl wasn't stupid enough to cross his path anytime soon.

As both women heard him leave, Tama looked at Norah who continued to stay on her position on her hands and knees in front of her. Eventually, after a moment of uncomfortable silence, the girl looked at the older woman with a look that conveyed complete mistrust, anger and hesitance at what to expect next.

Tama merely lifted an eyebrow and asked, "Hungry?"


	6. Chapter 6

**_Debt bondage:_ ** _(also known as debt slavery or bonded labor) is a person's pledge of their labor or services as security for the repayment for a debt or other obligation. The services required to repay the debt may be undefined, and the services' duration may be undefined._

_Source: Wikipedia_

* * *

**Chapter 6  
** **Hell on Meals**

* * *

Norah looked at the bowl of fruit and bread in front of her with a starving stomach but still refused to take it; the company enough was to make her lose her appetite.

Tama sat across from her in the large stone kitchen the color of granite across from a dark, wooden preparation table. The older woman had spent the time divulging about the deal that she had struck with Black to have her brought in and despite how much Tama tried to convey that it was out of sympathy for her situation, Norah could sense a layer of falseness in her voice. The ex-bartender wasn't sure of her true intentions but knew for a certainty from their previous conversations that Tama was looking out with her own best interests in mind. Her selfishness was the only thing that ever seemed truthfully conveyed whenever they spoke with each other.

Regardless, Norah listened quietly as she spun her tale of worry and prattled on of how the arrangement was for the best of them, all the while in a soothing maternal voice and eerily pleasant facial features to try and win her over. The only thing the saccharine display seemed to elicit was how clearly manipulative and deceitful Tama was. If this had been her first encounter with her, Norah she could see herself becoming easily spell-bounded by her offer.

Good thing this wasn't their first encounter.

"How much money did you pay Black to find me?" the younger Outworlder asked with a loathing tone. "How much am I _unwillingly_ in debt to you?"

Tama waved her hand absently, "Méh-è's pact was 10,000 in gold coins."

Norah scoffed incredulously at Tama's false dismissive act. "That seems like a _lot_ of coins. Especially just for me."

The woman shrugged, seemingly already prepared with her answer."Erron Black's services do not come without a price."

The girl tapped a finger against the wooden surface of the preparation table but said nothing. Tama had also expressed how it had been inconvenient for her to use the money from Méh-è's pact to hire Erron Black and Norah had a feeling if she tried to run she would be apprehended and killed for owing the woman— with a much higher station than herself— such a large sum of money. Either Black had to give up the money or she had to work it off as her indentured servant like Tama had obviously planned. The baker looked at the stone ovens with a grimace; ovens that she would have to put to use soon while she failed to conjure a solution to her dilemma that didn't involve her own beheading.

"Need I remind you, you are not a slave here," Tama said, cutting through her thoughts and grabbing her attention. "You may not appreciate my methods, but you will be much safer and have much more opportunity for stability here than gutting fish for a pittance at the docks."

Norah narrowed her eyes at her; she was tired of her sweet, erroneous tone: "You care only of yourself."

"Not entirely true," Tama said, a small cross expression on her face, "I paid him to save you and you will not hear an apology for my actions."

The woman pushed the bowl of food in front like a peace offering and Norah stared at it blankly, unwilling to budge.

"You may leave if once you have worked off your debt, but you also are welcomed to stay here if you grow comfortable to it. You are an indentured servant, but you are not a slave and do not make me treat you as such. I would hate to see the guards remove that stubborn head from your shoulders because you decided to try and run."

Norah shook her head, almost unnoticeably, as she stared at the woman; completely livid by her words. She knew a threat when she heard it and all it did was confirm the bartender's previous suspicions that she would be killed if she ran. She was a slave no matter what words she tried to masquerade it under.

The starving woman heard Tama sigh, "Now will you eat?"

She thought of objecting before she heard her own stomach growl, feeling as if it was eating itself. With a sigh, she picked up the small blue fruit that had a bumpy texture, bit into its flesh and chewed it slowly and unenthusiastically. Norah thought of spitting it out when Tama smiled in approval, but her hunger was enough for her to continue; it had been days without a decent thing to eat.

"You will report before first light every morning here to bake until you have filled your quota for the day. I do not think you will need instruction due to your experience, but if you are uncertain of something you may ask one of the other cooks."

The younger woman simply listened and continued eating; absorbing the information as best as she could through the resentful thoughts for her new employer she had clouding her attention.

"You may clean yourself up in my room and after that you may have Méh-è's old room. Her clothes may be small for you, but I will make sure that you have the appropriate size in good time."

Tama leaned forward, her expression suddenly darkening and giving Norah a glimpse of the predator, the one she knew that was hiding under the candied exterior.

"One word of stubbornness from you and I will be sure that I find some other way to collect what is owed to me," Tama warned steely, "You are to be respectful and obedient and if I hear one word that you cannot be either, I will make sure you dislike me even more than you do already."

Norah chewed the inside of her cheek angrily and flashed Tama with a mockingly pleasant look, "Do not worry. I will be the epitome of a good _slave_ as one can be."

The older woman narrowed her eyes at her sarcastic tone and Norah could have sworn she thought she would have been slapped across the face when she saw Tama's hand lift slightly off the table.

"My words are not made of air, Norah," Tama warned lowly. "Now finish eating, quickly. You smell terribly, and you need the bath."

Norah did so, but she had a hard time enjoying any of the food that went down into her stomach as Tama waited patiently off to the side. The girl felt uneasy, causing her to harbor an anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach; she truly was not sure what to expect from Tama. One thing was for certain, though, was that the woman would never have paid Black 10,000 gold pieces so that Norah could bake bread.

There was something else... 

* * *

It was always surprising how the bath seemed to lift her mood, however, she still grimaced when she saw the dirty brown water; a reminder of how filthy she had been after weeks of living near the docks cutting up fish.

Unfortunately, the soap and the water didn't remove all traces of the fish smell and she could still feel it lingering on her like a second skin. In Tama's private washroom, Norah stole a glance at Tama's small mirror on the table and frowned at her appearance; she truly did look awful. Along with being ungroomed and hairier than usual— which was the least of her worries— her face looked hollow from underneath the curtain of wet, wavy hair.

Due from the little meals she was able to grab at the docks, and she had lost some of her muscle in the process. Her body enjoyed having muscle and fat, and she looked at her body with a grimace at how emaciated she looked now. Caused not only from starving at the docks but a little from the tavern as well. She frowned, missing her curvy structure rather than the skeleton she saw before her.

Her ribs poked through her skin prominently as she exhaled deeply and traced the bruise over her jawline, poking it carefully to see how tender it was and if it was healing. Her eye had been open for a while now, and she was also glad that the bruise was disappearing, healing like her jawline.

Her eyes caught the sight of her arm, and she scowled when she saw the angry red mark surrounding her wrist from where Black had grabbed her. She also noticed the dotted purple bruises that danced across her upper arm, traces of where his fingertips had gripped her.

The thought of Erron Black returned her back to her previous foul mood, and she turned away from the mirror and started dressing in the clothes provided to her. She hated the bastard, and the fact alone she was in the same building he was enough to want to renounce the Elder Gods. The only thing she could hope for was for her duties to be insignificant enough for them to never meet each other. Perhaps, she would never see him again, but if they did, she refused to accept that she could stay in the palace in peace with both occupying it.

Ignoring her indignant thoughts about the gunslinger, Norah picked up the dress that once belonged to Méh-è from her pregnancy and gave it a dubious look.

Despite that Méh-è' had been pregnant when Norah had met her, her chest was still much smaller, and that made the bustier girl her frown uncomfortably at how tight it looked. She sighed and worked on getting the beige material over her head. As expected, the dress was too tight, and it pushed her breasts uncomfortably against her, pinning them down tightly. Norah also frowned when she saw that the front had a slit that opened slightly, causing the material to stretch and expose her cleavage more than she was used to or wanted.

"Wonderful," she groaned, trying to pull the side to cover herself with little effort, wishing she had a scarf to cover herself.

The rest of the beige dress fit somewhat fine, the hips and the sleeves a little snug but other than that she had no complaints. She reached for the other section of the dress which looked like a basic skirt that settled at the waist and had thick straps that went over the shoulders like a false apron. She liked the color that was a dark red, almost brown and threw it over her head. The straps settled in front of her chest and draped over the shoulders.

Norah found herself liking the ensemble despite it did not fit right and ignored the one complaint she had about it. She turned towards the flat shoes and reached for them apprehensively. They were basic black flat, slip on shoes with no straps and hoped they were not loose. Otherwise, she would have blisters on the back of her ankles in no time.

The baker sighed with relief; Méh-è' and her were the same foot size.

Norah heard Tama knock on the door, and sucked her teeth in annoyance. Opening the door and collecting her dirty clothes and her leather bag, she walked over and opened the door, finding the abhorrent woman on the other side. Tama greeted her a nod, holding a bundle of work clothes for her.

She seemed to be pleased with her fresh appearance and smiled, "Who knew you had a bosom underneath all those baggy rags."

The girls eyes narrowed in response to the comment, unsure whether it was a merely a strange compliment or a blatant, sarcastic insult. She figured the latter and tried to close the cleavage by using her free hand to grip the material on each side.

"We will have more clothes for you to wear when you are not in your work attire," Tama informed her before handing over the clothes. "These are what Méh-è' worked in while baking and what you will wear until we have a set that fits you right."

The reluctant baker didn't say anything, and instead grabbed the bundle of clothes from her with a blank expression.

"My son will be walking you to Méh-è's old room," Tama told her. Norah blinked, unsure whether she had heard correctly. Tama had a son? She never mentioned him until now.

"I have had a very long day and I will be retiring for the evening. Enjoy your night," the older woman finished, her hand gesturing towards Méh-è's old room. The former tavern worker, exited the room and closed the door behind her with a hard thud, scoffing at Tama's words. _You have had a long night? Try being dragged by Erron Black for the whole market to see._

Norah suddenly grunted in surprise at the body that she ran into.

The man, who looked older but still close to her age, smiled warmly at her and when he did, she could see the resemblance to Tama. His brown eyes were kind and portrayed a calm demeanor— unlike Tama's— were genuine that would make anyone feel welcome. The only thing that gave her a reason to speculate that he was almost the same age was the short, boyish black hair that sat untamed like a teenager and whipped out by his ears. Like his face, which was clean shaven, his physique was strong and lean. He wore a sleeveless dark purple shirt with a teal belt cloth tied around his waist that tucked into black pants that tapered into the also dark boots he wore.

His smile faded however, after he looked upon her appearance and was quickly replaced with a look of disappointment and annoyance that she thought was directed at her before he shook his head, and she heard him mutter "Mother..." almost disdainfully under his breath.

Norah's brows bridged together in confusion when he shot a glare towards the door before he gave her a pitying look and he sighed almost in defeat. He shook his head, removed the frown from his face and forced a smile.

"You must be her," he said, his voice carrying a tenor that she hadn't expected. He extended his hand towards her, a look of apprehensiveness on his face.

"I'm Bao," he greeted. Norah looked at his hand, noticing the black leather cuff he wore and that he was also missing the smallest of his fingers and placed her hand in his, returning the gesture. He shook her hand lightly and smiled a little more. She felt something small and cold and when she released his hand, caught the glimpse of a small jade ring on his finger.

"I'm Norah," she returned.

"Earthrealmer?" he said with a nod, although it sounded more of a statement than a question.

She shook her head, "Outworlder."

He groaned almost comically at his error, "I thought you of Earthrealm for sure! Especially with such a name."

Norah frowned, "My mother and father they... _were_."

The male servant caught what she was implying and gave her a truly sympathetic look of sadness, "I am sorry."

She nodded her head, and Bao smiled timidly at her, unsure of what to say. Instead he turned, raised his hand and indicated towards the red-stone hallway, lit by torches on the walls in a gesture that conveyed that she lead the way.

The bartender nodded and walked, Bao joining her by her side as soon as she started moving and lead her to her new room. The new-hire servant gripped the clothes against her chest and felt a heavy weight of awkwardness between them.

"You… you are Tama's son?" Norah questioned tentatively, unsure how to resume the conversation.

He looked at her with an unpleasant expression on his face, as if she had reminded him of something she shouldn't have: "She gave birth to me, yes."

Norah raised an eyebrow at the cold manner he had answered her question: "You do not seem happy that I mentioned that."

Bao shook his head, his face softening a bit, "I am not angry at you for asking if that is what you are wondering."

"Do you not like your mother?" the baker asked, wondering in the back of her mind if perhaps it had been too brazen of an inquiry.

He didn't reply; his features fixed into a dark frown that told Norah all she needed to know. He must have sensed that she could read him and shook his head, a small smile trying to disguise the resentment he apparently felt towards Tama. "My mother can be a... very _difficult_ person to be around," Bao told her.

Norah smiled lightly at him, finding his honesty refreshing, "If it makes you feel better, I do not like your mother either."

He laughed. "There are not many that do."

They were silent after that, awkwardness finally lifting from them, and felt herself relax in his company. It was pleasant that she didn't feel the need to act as hesitant around Bao liked needed to be with Tama, she was expecting them to be mirror images of each other. Instead, she didn't feel any ill thoughts about him, nor did he convey that he was putting on a show like his mother did. However, it didn't mean that Norah trusted him entirely. After all, Tama was his mother.

Her new co-worker led her down a corridor with many doors bunched together on each side, "These are the kitchen staff's rooms. Small, but comfortable as long as you do not mind sharing with the rats."

Norah chuckled softly at his joke.

The younger male nodded and showed her to her room situated at the end of the hallway on the right side. He gentlemanly opened the door for her and let her walk in.

She glanced around the simple room with indecisive indifference. It was simple; barely the size of a broom closet, but her eyes landed on the cot with longing; glad that her back would have a rest from the rocks and sand that had been her bedding for the past couple of weeks. She also had a simple table, chair and bucket and sponge for washing but the room was windowless, and she wondered how she would know whether to rise each morning or not.

He jingled a key in his hand and handed it to Norah. "The key to your room. It would be wise to lock it when you are not in it as well as at night. Some of the guards... they are not very friendly towards the younger women."

The female baker nodded, understanding his point, and took the key.

"I will let you get some rest," Bao said, beginning to leave until a despondent sigh escaped his lips; looking as if a thought had suddenly come to his mind.

"Norah, no matter what she tells you... do _not_ trust her," Bao told her, his brown eyes boring into hers with a dreadful seriousness. It unnerved her despite now being able to confirm that she wasn't wrong to mistrust the woman. If her own son didn't like her, then there was a reason.

She nodded, "I never did."

Bao smiled confidently, "Good," with that last word, he closed the door.

Norah adjusted her eyes to the darkness as best as she could, stumbling around blindly in the meantime and hissing slightly when her toe stubbed against the chair. Hopping on her foot, she eventually found the cot and smiled. Using the new clothes as a pillow, she laid down and sank into the cot.

While it was nice to have a decent bed again, it did little to quell her worry about what to expect. Bao's words still lingered in her head as she fought to drift to sleep. The room, which was deemed hers and hers only, seemed more appropriate when she compared it to a jail cell. Although discontent about her situation, she concluded that there was no way to determine what to expect until the next morning, and even though knowing no matter how much she mulled over the possibilities, was better to forget in the meantime and just enjoy the rest she could get.

Still, rest barely came for her that night, only washing over her in small intervals that made her more tired as a result. After growing even more increasingly exhausted from her insistent tossing and turning, Norah decided to venture out in the hallway. The tired girl grabbed one of the torches scattered along the walls of the servant's quarters, and after a few moments of meandering, returned to her room after placing the torch back in its spot.

Her eyes searched the darkness for the pile of clothing that consisted of her baking attire. Even folded, she could tell the light blue dress with white arm sleeves to go over the long-sleeved dress, looked somewhat worn, and like the clothes she wore, too small for her. Accompanying the garment, was a white scarf for her hair and an apron to match, both as equally as impressive as the dress.

Unsure whether it was night or morning, she picked up the clothing and walked with it outside; seeing no other option to occupy her time. The corners of the baker's mouth tugged briefly as she walked through the dead hallway once more. Norah couldn't help but wonder who the cooks were, what they looked like and if they would be as pleasant as Tama as she tip-toed quietly in the hallway.

Another series of corridors finally led her to the door she had been looking for. She grabbed the handle and turned it, pushing herself through and found the familiar empty kitchen. She looked past the gigantic island of wood that was the preparation table and marched towards the door that led to the herb garden. Just as she expected, it was still night, although it did look like it was starting to lighten into dawn.

Norah sat in the area, her thoughts involuntarily flashing back to her own mediocre garden at the tavern, as she glued her back against the wall. While waiting for the first rays of light, while she changed discreetly out of her clothes and into the baking attire. The ex-bartender sat against the wall for what seemed like an eternity with nothing the same turbulent thoughts that kept her up to keep her company.

She refused to shed a tear over the horrendous situation she found herself in and how she never pictured such a thing ever to happen to her. Tears would not fix anything, and there was no use letting them fall; it didn't mean she didn't want to, though. The more she ran over the events that led up to the position, the more depressed she felt. While she attributed most of it was caused by her father's ridiculous deal with Rhen, it was Erron Black that was the omen that had started it all. Norah knew that most of it wasn't all his doing, but his involvement couldn't be denied.

She also couldn't help but wonder if her outcome would have been different if he had intervened that day or if would have prolonged the inevitable. Whatever the case, she was certain of one thing: if Erron Black had helped, her father may still be alive. He could have easily gunned down Rhen like he was swatting a fly, and he had blatantly chosen not to. The girl could tell he had been considering it too. Whatever his motivations were, he had walked away and in Norah's eyes it made him almost partially responsible. If not, it at least cemented her hatred for him.

Forcing her mind to migrate to a topic that wasn't as infuriating, she settled on trying to figure a way to secure her freedom. However, the fantasies she thought of her escape were unrealistic or ended in death no matter what path she chose.

There was no one she knew in Earthrealm and with nothing of value to get there that option was thrown away. She thought maybe asking Black to give Tama her money back, but she scoffed at the idea he would agree to it. Lastly, she thought of just running away. However, she knew it would end up with her on the execution block in some way.

With no other choice and noticing the sun was coming up, she rose and proceeded into the kitchen and began her first day of servitude. Norah had seen the small piece of paper that lay on the counter when she had walked through and figured it was for her when she saw the list of bread and the quantity demanded.

**_2 sweet loaves of bread for the morning meal._ **

**_2 herbed loaves of bread for the midday meal._ **

**_2 herbed loaves of bread for the evening meal._ **

The baker shrugged indifferently; the list did not seem too difficult of a task, but she honestly thought she would be baking more. She chewed her cheek in thought, wondering _who_ it was that she was baking these loaves for.

She pushed the thought to the side and searched for what she needed. With a tug at the corner of her mouth, she gazed at the bread oven that consisted of a hole cut into the granite wall off in the corner with a small fireplace underneath. While someone had been considerate to supply her with fresh wood, she noticed when she opened the metal oven door that the baking slab would need to be properly cleaned. She grimaced; it looked like the plate had not been cleaned routinely and would take some work to remove the black soot.

Her eyes landed on the bread paddle that was next to the cleaning rod and the dirty towel that hung off the tip of it. She shook her head in disappointment at it, no wonder Tama had said Méh-è' had been poor baker, it showed it in the carelessness she saw in the tools alone.

Norah went over towards the sink area until she found a tattered rag that was somewhat clean. She dipped it in the water and set to work on the slab before she decided to look for the ingredients for the bread she would need. Tama had been vague with her list and she decided to bake with what materials she found.

She had to venture out in the hallway once more for her fire and lit the bundle while she looked for the flour, yeast, and ingredients that she would need for her bread. She searched through the cabinets for the spices she needed and pleased that they were all the baking ingredients were situated together.

Norah looked over the other half of the kitchen that included a large open fireplace and a spit within it and like her oven; it also had the wood ready for burning. A couple of small cauldrons sat out of the way, so her eyes grazed over the dried herbs that hung nearby on hooks on the wall, most likely from the garden nearby. She noticed a small metal basin with several clean iron pots resting in it alongside a little bucket with two pairs of rags for washing and drying. When would she meet the cooks?

Ignoring the question for now, the baker set to her own work; mixing her first loaf together with the sweet sugars, flours, and yeast for the bread for the early morning meal. Even preoccupied, the question returned and she wondered how much alone time she would have until the other servants arrived.

Her inquiry was quickly answered when she noticed the door open, and two men walked in. The baker gaped at them, frankly quite surprised by their appearance.

She had not expected Earthrealmers.

The more willowy and darker of the two was older than her but not by far. He had dark skin - darker than any Outworlder than she had seen - and wore a kind complexion with a square jaw and dark stubble around his chin. His beard was trimmed as short as his hair was, and Norah couldn't help but stare at the strange red bandana tied around his head with curiosity; the white swirled pattern nothing she had seen in Outworld.

The other man had lighter skin and was much older, closer to her own father's age with hair that once had been as dark as hers that was now dominated with gray that also covered his beard. Like his beard, his hair was cut short, and both neatly taken care of, the only thing that wasn't covered in white hair was his dark bushy eyebrows. He was thin and muscular and wore a faded dark short-sleeved shirt and dark pants; the same one his accomplice wore.

They were both handsome men in their own ways, the darker in a friendlier way while the older man with a grizzlier exterior but they stared sternly at her in disapproval.

The males looked at each other and then back at her with a frown. As if they had a small silent conversation with each other.

"Well, of course, she found another Earthrealmer," the darker skinned man said, his voice more high-pitched than she would have thought, causing his age to seem younger in her eyes.

Her face fell into confusion before she narrowed her eyes, slightly insulted by his statement.

"You expect anything else?" the older man commented with a slight smile, his voice still hanging to remnants of his youth but losing the battle through his deep and stern voice.

"I swear she has a metal detector in the back," said the younger man, jerking his thumb over his shoulder absently.

"She doesn't need it. Nose like a bloodhound," the other one retorted, tapping his nose with his index finger lightly.

"Are you speaking of Tama?" Norah asked them, feeling slightly offended that they chose to comment about her right in front of her.

"Yup," the younger man answered nonchalantly. He narrowed his eyes questionably at her as if searching for the answer somewhere on her face. "So what part of Earthrealm you from?"

Norah raised an eyebrow, "I am not from Earthrealm."

"Balderdash! The U.S or Europe?" the older man said, raising an eyebrow at her.

"I was born in Outworld. Not in U.S, Europe or Balderdash," Norah said with an exasperated tone.

The older man laughed loudly, and she saw the younger tried to hide the humored smile that threatened to expose, looking as if he was having a difficult time attempting to hide it.

She felt her cheeks grow hot, feeling slightly embarrassed by their reaction; what was it that she had said? They looked at each other, seeing if each other believed what she told them to be the truth.

The older of the two shrugged indifferently while the younger's mouth tugged up in a dubious smile; a disbelieving look on his face. "Earthrealm, Outworld, Neptune— well, wherever you're from nice to meet you, anyway. And you are...?"

"Norah," she told to the younger man.

"Name's Carver," greeted the dark-skinned man before he pointed to the older gentleman, "He's Bert. We da' cooks."

She narrowed her eyes in disbelief, the corner of her mouth pulled up with doubt at them which they just laughed humorlessly at. Carver walked up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder that Norah frowned at.

"You stay on your side of the table, and we'll stay on ours. Touch my shit and I hurt you. Comprende?" Carver said with smirk as he let go of her shoulder and walked past her.

"Welcome to Purgatory," Bert added humorously before joining his fellow Earthrealmer.

Norah's eyes stayed glued to her dough after that, trying to forget the presence of the strange Earthrealmers she was sharing the kitchen with; still unsure quite what to make of the odd pair. Much to her relief, they didn't bother her, and she did her best to ignore their conversation that she knew was about her based on how they kept glancing in her direction. Also, throughout their talk, she could make out little quips negatively referencing to Tama. The baker smiled slightly. Well, at least it seemed that they didn't like Tama as well, but as far as Norah was concerned that was where their similarities ended.

By noon, she came to the conclusion that they were harmless but strange. Bert and Carver kept to themselves, going about their business while they both consistently found something to argue about. Eventually, they would arrive at an impasse and settled down as their talking drifted to topics about Earthrealm culture she hadn't the slightest clue about.

"Do you think Willy Wonka was a serial killer? I mean... you never find out what happens to them kids at the end," Carver asked Bert. The older man kept to his work, but let out a disgruntled sigh.

"What about sharks? Do you think they're misunderstood?" Carver persisted with a smile. "If there was someone trapped in a cage, I'd be a good samaritan too and try to get them out. Just because I have fins doesn't mean I wouldn't make the effort."

"Carver. Shut up, will you?"

Norah smiled lightly as they squabbled back and forth while she pulled out her bread from the oven. She wasn't sure which Elder God she had offended to deserve such company, but she had to admit, they were growing on her despite her aversion at first.

* * *

As soon as midday passed, the kitchen was already swarmed with people and they were not making it easy for her to move around. At the tavern, she had grown accustomed to practicing in her own space without interference, now she was being pushed, prodded, shoved and had her toes stepped on more times than she could count. She also noticed the stares of uncertainty from the servants that came and went, but she assumed it was just because she was a new face. Speaking of new faces, she was very surprised at the new occupant in the kitchen that cleaned the pots in the basin.

Like Bert and Carver, Norah was introduced to another Earthrealmer, an elderly woman with a stressed expression and stringy gray hair who sulked and cleaned the pots for the cooks to use. Besides the servants that collected the meals, she was the only native Outworlder here, and Norah wondered if she should be worried about that. Why Earthrealmers?

Eventually, the servants left them alone, leaving just the four of them to go about their work silently before Carver suddenly through his hands in the air in frustration.

"I give up! Where's that damn fish smell coming from?"

Bert nodded in Norah's direction as she closed the metal door to the stove and glared in their direction. The male cooks returned to their duties, currently pulling feathers from the small game they were preparing for dinner while it cooked in one of the cauldrons. It started to bubble and filled the room with a pleasant smell that accompanied the bread baking in the oven.

"It's gonna drive me crazy," Carver muttered under his breath, his palms slamming against the table; the action blowing feathers across the table lightly. "Don't you take a bath ever?"

Norah was about to ask them the same question before Tama had opened the door to the kitchen and came in to survey them all. The younger girls's eyes stayed on the bread, trying to ignore the presence of her employer as she walked over towards the men and spoke to them about tomorrow's meals.

"Try to put effort into pulling the feathers more, nobody likes biting into quills in their meal," she heard the older Outworlder condescend to Carver.

They nodded their heads in compliance and Norah looked up to see Carver flashing Tama's back with his middle finger. Norah was unsure what the gesture was supposed to mean, but by the look on the Earthrealmer's face, it was supposed to be offensive.

Tama whirled around just as Carver used the same finger to scratch his nose as if he had an itch while Bert came up behind him and hit the back head with the palm of his hand; more playful than anything else.

Their employer smiled warmly at her even though Norah didn't acknowledge her; her eyes still on the dough. "How are you doing, Norah? " Tama said with an approving nod, "Are you content?"

"I am _content_ ," Norah growled through her teeth, kneading the dough harder.

Tama frowned and glanced at the dough before back to Norah with a displeased expression, "Do not get _too_ carried away in your work. It is still a while until the last meal and the Emperor does not enjoy cold bread served to him."

Her hands immediately came to a halt as Norah's eyes widened in alarm and she turned to Tama, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, "I am baking bread for the Kahn?!"

"Yes ma'am," Carver interjected, "You think this tiny little kitchen has enough food for the entire palace?"

"The Kahn and his guards," Bert clarified. Their employer shot them a glare, annoyed by their eavesdropping.

"I will try and come see how you are doing at the evening meal," Tama informed her before leaving the kitchen. Norah looked over to see Bert and Carver looking at her with each of their eyebrows raised simultaneously almost in humor.

"What's the matter? Afraid you'll lose your head?" Carver jested as he ran a finger over his throat, imitating having her head decapitated. Norah scoffed in defense, finding herself rolling her eyes at him.

"Yeah, keep rolling your eyes at me, maybe you'll see your brain back there," Carver scolded, frowning slightly at her.

"At least I will be able to find mine," Norah shot back, earning a loud laugh from Bert while Carver shot him a glower for doing so.

"I like her," Bert confessed with a smile and shrugged. "Much better than that kid who burned all the bread."

Carver's mouth pursed indignantly as if he was failing to think of something to say and just spat: "Take a bath. You smell like a fisherman's ass."

Norah simply slapped the dough hard against the wood of the table, conveying his words fell on deaf ears. With nothing more than a wave of his hand, Carver turned away and back to his work. Bert winked at her with a smirk and helped him as well.

The elderly woman glanced from her pots, smiled and shook her head before she also smiled warmly in Norah's direction, which the baker returned with one of her own.

The evening meal approached, and Norah preoccupied herself with tidying up her station, making sure the oven was properly cleaned after it had the chance to cool off and after that, helped the elderly woman with the pots and pans.

Norah had tried to make small talk with the woman but their conversation never took off. The solitary Outworlder soon discovered that the woman was a mute named Abigail after Bert had come over and whispered that she had her tongue cut out after trying to escape. The only reason she didn't receive worse punishment was because Tama intervened. Outworlders typically lived longer lives than Earthrealmers, so it didn't surprise her that their employer had been involved in this poor woman's life in some way. She couldn't help but wonder: why her tongue? Most of the stories she heard about runaway slaves usually left them enduring a hobbling or death.

The baker didn't ask and kept her question to herself, not wanting to be rude to the woman that had grimaced sadly when Bert had brought up the subject. Abigail seemed appreciative of Norah's help, but every time she glanced her way, Norah noticed a pained expression in her eyes for her.

As soon as Abigail's task was completed with her help, Norah noticed Carver and Bert were finishing up with the food. The hungry girl drooled over the meals on the plate that were waiting to be retrieved on the preparation table. Never before had she seen such exquisite plating done for an Outworld dish. Steam rose off the cooked poultry while Bert and Carver worked on placing the pile of cooked vegetables and grains on the plate. Their dedication for appearance was clearly put to good use as she noticed everything seemed organized on the plate; too picturesque to eat. It made Norah's bread look pitiful and boring as it sat cooling in a large mound on the serving trays. Strange as they may be, they were definitely good cooks.

Bert snapped his fingers at her, grabbing her attention. "You're begging like a dog," he teased playfully with a smirk.

"What's the matter? Didn't you think we Earthrealmers could cook?" Carver interjected sarcastically. "I've got a piece of paper and 20,000 dollars in debt to prove it, too."

Norah cringed when she suddenly heard her stomach growl loudly, the Kahn's dinner tempting her doing little to help her forget she was hungry. Tama had told her she was to have a break each day but like Bert and Carver, most of their breaks ended up being in small intervals of boredom. To be honest, with not much besides baking, she was unsure whether she was allowed to leave the kitchen or not since the others never did.

The servants eventually came for the food, and it left them with nothing much to do but clean. Eventually, a knock came at the door, and Carver answered it to greet an Outworlder. His body was frail and skinny underneath his rags— clearly marking him as a slave— as he came in with a pile of wood in a cart behind him. Norah took her own bundle of timber while Carver and Bert grabbed the food and two buckets of water for their use.

Bert nodded over in her direction, "Tzi, this is Norah. She is the new baker."

Norah nodded her greeting slightly in Tzi's direction that he returned while Bert looked at her, "He is the supply runner for us. If you run out of something, he's the one to get it. Make sure you give him enough time, though, not everything travels fast here."

Tzi left shortly after his introduction, leaving the four of them without anything to do.

Currently, Bert, Carver, Norah and Abigail sat around the table, waiting for the servants to come back with the plates for them to clean which surprisingly took longer than expected.

Carver sat, drumming his fingers against the table while Bert had his eyes closed with his arms crossed over his chest. Almost as if he was trying to fall asleep when he was woken by the sound of Norah's stomach growling loudly. Norah sighed in embarrassment.

"Don't worry, we'll be eating soon," Bert assured her without even opening his eyes, "I can hear them now."

Norah listened and heard the footsteps approach before the door opened. Servants entered carrying empty plates except for one plate that looked like it hadn't been touched and sat it on the preparation table for them to collect.

Bert grabbed the plate that didn't look like it had been touched at all when she reached greedily for it; unable to sway off her hunger any longer. Her eyes instantly narrowed at him when she saw him walk over to a small drawer and produced utensils. He walked back, heading towards the female Earthrealmer, and pulled apart the meat from the bone and cut the vegetables into smaller pieces.

Norah thought he was going to eat it until he smiled at Abigail and pushed the plate over to her which she gave a thankful nod at. Norah noticed that Carver didn't have any objections to it, hardly blinking and figured that this was routine. Norah smiled but felt somewhat ashamed that she had tried to take Abigail's food. Not expecting the gesture at all from the Earthrealmers based on her first impression of them. Outworld had only taught her to fend for herself.

"Why was there still food on that plate?" she asked curiously.

"Ermac never touches his food," Bert answered.

Norah furrowed her brows in confusion. She was well aware of who Ermac was; out of all the Kahn's bodyguards, he had the biggest repetition of being the most mysterious as well as the most dangerous due to his magic— or at least according to tavern gossip.

"Why serve him a plate, then?"

"Courtesy," was Carver's reply, "It be rude not to. Plus we don't wanna die. I like my intestines to stay in my body, thank you very much."

The door opened, and Abigail panicked for a moment, preparing to hide her plate until she saw it was Bao who came through carrying a clay pot and bowls with him.

"About time you showed up," Carver mumbled irritably to Bao, "We were wasting away here."

"I apologize," Bao sighed, "The dining hall was very busy tonight."

"We were thinking you had forgotten about us. Don't turn into your mother on us," Bert commented with light sarcasm.

Bao smiled lightly, "Never," he said and sat the black clay pot down.

He gave each of them a bowl before sitting by Abigail, who he patted her hand gently, earning a smile from the older woman. Norah noticed Bao wore the same outfit that she had seen him in yesterday and came to the conclusion that it must have been a uniform as well.

She began to remove the scarf from her head as the Earthrealmers scooped a bowl for Abigail before passing the ladle to Norah. The Outworld girl scooped up the brown, rust colored stew and frowned when most of it was liquid and rice with little meat she didn't recognize, but she was thankful for something nonetheless.

Carver seemed to notice her look of disgust and chuckled. "Don't worry, it tastes worse than it looks but it'll at least fatten you up," Carver concluded with a frown.

Carver and Bert poured their bowls and Bao gave Norah a smile. "Your bread was successful. I think they were pleased that it tasted decent for once," he told her.

"Yay, you get to keep your head," Carver mocked before he slurped his soup loudly.

Norah raised an eyebrow,"Méh-è was that poor at baking?"

"Not all of the time," Bao said, grabbing a bowl for himself as well, "She did burn it quite often, though."

Carver choked on his soup, his bark of laughter echoing all over the kitchen, "Quite often isn't the phrase to describe the black bricks she pulled from that oven! I've seen volcanic rocks that were lighter. She had to rush through to bake new loaves as quick as she could so the Kahn had something to eat."

"They were always doughy then they should have been. At least you do not talk to us to death," Bert added, diving into his bowl without looking up.

Carver threw up his hands, his palms pointing towards his face and gazed up at the sky, "Hallelujah."

Norah's eyes glanced up towards the ceiling, wondering what deity he was praying to and began to eat her food. It was cold and bitter tasting but her stomach was thankful for a meal finally, and she ate it without complaint.

All of them grew quiet as they ate their food as well, and Norah had to admit that her first day didn't go as badly as she had expected it to.

* * *

A month had passed, and Norah had to admit she was growing quite bored with her new occupation.

Like the first day, she found herself looking for more work to do— anything to keep her occupied in the kitchen. She had asked Bert and Carver if they needed any help but they quickly told her no; both of them possessively particular about their space in the kitchen and their food. For the most part, and besides the way she had come to be here, she was feeling somewhat relaxed in her environment.

Her weight had returned to her, and her clothes fit much better after Tama had given her the proper size. Her mood also seemed lifted, and she had to agree it had very much to do with the people that she worked with in the kitchen even if it was only some of the time.

Things were tolerable with the Earthrealmers, and she even caught herself laughing at some of their jokes but some days she found herself irritated with their Earthrealm references that went beyond her comprehension. While Bert was more of the level-headed of the two, Carver had small bouts of immaturity that brushed Norah the wrong way. She honestly expected more maturity from someone older than her despite the realm they grew up in. She had also eventually discovered during their small talks with each other how they had both ended up in Outworld.

Carver was from a place called Honolulu, Hawaii but had lived mostly in Los Angeles. Bert called Texarkana, Texas home, and despite how much they asked, she gave them the same answer that she was born in Outworld.

The younger male Earthrealmer had found himself in trouble financially and had used the opportunity to flee to Outworld before they were able to find him. Bert was more hushed about reasons, only saying he gave someone information for a ticket to Outworld and nothing else. They had volunteered to become indentured after finding nowhere else to put their talents to use; both of them had been cooks in some aspect, although Carver was the better chef. Norah never did ask about Abigail and while she was curious, kept her question buried in the back of her mind.

While she did like Abigail, the older woman was difficult to read, and Norah wasn't sure if she was welcome company for her or simply a burden because of the looks she gave her. The baker wished she could understand why she gave her the sympathetic and pitying looks, but she couldn't place what the woman was thinking. Maybe it was because they seemed to shared the feeling of being an outcast in some way; Abigail with her muteness and Norah with her birthplace being in Outworld. Still, Norah wasn't convinced that was the reason.

The baker was surprised and both thankful of how little they saw of Tama. While she did stop in to inspect how they were doing, she would leave shortly and attend to other business. Bert had eventually clarified that this wasn't the only kitchen that Tama oversaw, and Norah accepted the answer; somewhat glad that Tama wasn't a lingering presence.

The one person that she was surprised she got along so well with was Bao, despite who his mother was. She learned that Bao was a cup-bearer at the Kahn's meals and had even served at the ex-Kahnum's dinners as well. Tama's son was always kind and respectful to her and Norah felt comfortable around him. Unlike his mother, he was genuine about caring for people, and she saw it with the loving camaraderie he showed towards Abigail. She still had a hard time believing that Tama of all women was his mother— they were complete opposites.

Bao always tried his best to bring them food after he was done since the dining hall for the servants was at the other end of the palace but there were days he simply couldn't. It had happened only a couple of times, and that was when Norah was finally able to get to see more of the palace with the Earthrealmers leading her. Bert had been somewhat strict about letting her venture alone and told her to have him accompany her if she needed anything, which frankly, Norah was glad he offered. It turned out that Norah didn't like the dining hall as much as the cooks did. The majority of the people that occupied the dark and muggy room were slaves who did not have pleasant feelings towards indentured servants.

Norah was also quite surprised she had not run into Erron Black since her stay at the palace until the last time they had to retrieve their meal. Black had passed them in the hall and responded to each other by returning venomous glares that, unfortunately, the Earthrealmers noticed and had commented on.

_"Who sent his horse to the glue factory?" Carver said, jerking a finger at the mercenary as they passed._

_"I don't think he was looking at us," Bert replied, giving Norah a concerned look._

They asked her if both of them had history, but after they saw the overly bitter look on her face, they seemed too reluctant to press the subject further.

That was a week ago, and Norah had pushed it out of her mind. While she was in the middle of her second loaf of the morning bread, she noticed the back door open and a very frightening, but tiny individual, spill through it and walked up to her.

The white-haired girl that was much shorter than her and looked up her curiously through the metallic helmet she wore. She placed her hands on her hips and unintentionally exposed the sharp ends of the arm-blades of her gauntlets. The girl looked more like a child than anything, but Norah was still apprehensive towards her; the appearance alone was enough to convince her that the girl was who she thought she was.

"You bread-lady?" she asked, her voice nasally and high-pitched and as childish as her appearance.

Norah nodded nervously.

"Ferra want bread for Torr too— you make it!" Ferra barked, nodding authoritatively at her that was almost comical.

The baker forced a kind smile on her face and put her hands on her hips, unsure what to say to the Kahn's bodyguard until she looked at the dough and a question came to mind.

"Alright," Norah gulped, "What kind of bread do you want me to make?"

"Ferra like sweet bread best! You make it or Torr stomp guts out!"

Norah's eyes widened as her eyebrows shot up to the ceiling at her words, a hesitant look on her face at the remark while she thought of something to say quickly.

"I would be more than happy to make the bread for you and Torr. He does not have to... uh, stomp my guts out..." Norah's face twisted uncomfortably; mentally hoping it was a good enough answer as her eyes flickered to the arm blades.

Ferra seemed pleased with her answer, didn't say anything and suddenly took off towards the back door leaving Norah sighing shakily under her breath as soon as the door slammed shut.

The female cook exhaled and went back to working on the loaf she had been kneading, but frowned when she realized this all seemed familiar, and scowled when she realized it was essentially the same the deal with Erron Black that she used to have; give them what they wanted or death. At least Ferra was blunt about it and had somewhat of a personality compared to the disgruntled gunslinger.

The other door opened suddenly and Carver poked his head out, a fearful look on his face that Norah could tell was meant to be comical.

"Is the tiny psychopath gone?" Carver asked with a hushed whisper. Bert opened the door wider and looked at Norah with a raised eyebrow before shook his head and pushed away whatever it was he was going to say.

Carver walked in after that, a crooked grin on his face, "Maybe you should have burnt the bread, especially seeing how Ferra likes it so much."

Norah flashed him a stern look although they could see the ghost of a smile on her face: "I would never do such a thing! I could not dare to call myself a baker if I let that happened."

Bert laughed at that, and Carver smiled a little wider. The darker Earthrealmer snapped his fingers, and that was when Norah noticed the small bag in his hand.

"I have a present for you," Carver blurted, walking over to her and giving her the bag. "Merry Christmas."

Norah gave him a dubious look, refraining from asking what Christmas was, and opened the bag, unsnapping the buttons and looked inside to see grooming materials. The young Outworlder looked at him with a glower.

"Figured you could use it—" he pointed a finger at her forehead— "Your fuzzy caterpillars are so close to each other they could shake hands, have tea and discuss the weather."

Norah covered her eyebrows instinctively and shot him an insulted glare that Carver laughed at. One of the things that she hadn't' been given by Tama, and had forgotten to grab from the tavern, was her grooming materials. She honestly didn't have anything to use, so she had ignored her looks, especially since she only ever went to her room or the kitchen.

Carver shrugged, the grin still on his face. "Just saying is all. You could use it. I saw you scratch your leg the other day, and I've seen less hair on a man's legs."

Norah's jaw dropped, completely offended. Bert laughed quietly in the corner and shrugged sheepishly at her. "Sorry, kid. He's got a point."

"See, Bert agrees too," Carver pointed out. Suddenly his face turned playfully stern, and he pointed a finger to the door, "Now go to your room and don't come back till you look like a lady."

Norah let an exasperated scoff escape her: "I have to bake. I will clean up after I am done—"

"Oh no—now. I can watch your bread," Carver scolded, grabbing her by the shoulders and guiding her towards the door against her will. Carver opened the door and before Norah could protest, gave her small but harmless kick to her rear with the side of his foot and closed the door.

The baker went to open the door, but Carver opened it and waved his hand at her, shooing her get her to get away from the door. "Begone!"

Norah huffed indignantly, "You are acting ridiculous. You are going to burn my bread and—"

"Yeah, yeah you're welcome Carver for the gift," he said with a roll of his eyes and closed the door, leaving her flabbergasted.

The Outworlder sighed in defeat, looked at the bag in her hand and smiled while she shook her head. "Earthrealmers..."

* * *

Bao's pace increased as he tried to evade his mother that was stalking him around the table as he helped collect the plates for the servants to carry away. The Kahn and his bodyguards had already finished their evening meal, and he was disappointed he was not able to escape her before she had found him.

"Mother, I said _no_. Find someone else," Bao reminded her sternly, a scowl on his face as he handed the metal plate to the servant girl that bowed and left, leaving him and his mother alone. Tama looked at him, a smug countenance on her face that he hated.

"I think Norah could do well. You need the person since the other cup-bearer did not make it past _The Marking_ ," Tama continued, following her son as he walked out of the dining area and into the corridor. Her son gritted his teeth as he heard her footsteps behind him and turned sharply to look at her.

"Besides, you have said yourself that Norah _wants_ to keep herself busy," Tama said, sending a flash of annoyance through him.

"Mother, I do not know what you truly want, but I will see that you do not get it," Bao returned firmly. "Norah is doing well where she is. I sense a much better change in her since she first came here, and I do not want to see it shattered from another one of your schemes."

Tama frowned, "I will ask Norah then if you will not do so. Perhaps the prospect of reducing her time here would interest her."

The younger Outworlder gritted his teeth angrily and took a step forward, his finger raised threateningly at her. " _Leave_ the girl _alone_."

She shook her head dismissively at him, a placid glower on her face as she surveyed him. "You and your sentiments for Earthrealmers."

"I said NO, Mother!" Bao yelled, his hands waving indignantly at her.

Tama scoffed, "I will still make her the offer regardless. You need the position filled and Norah clearly has shown interest in increasing her workload. She is a hard worker and she will do well."

Bao's hands tightened in anger, "And _The Marking_? You would put her through it just so you may have whatever it is you have in mind?"

Tama smiled at him, raising an eyebrow at him with a cognizant look at him like a vulture who had found carrion. Bao nodded his head; all of a sudden it became clear to him.

"You will not ruin another," Bao vowed with a stern tone, "I will make sure of this."

Tama pursed her lips and walked past him with Bao sharply on her heels; following behind his mother in the direction that she knew she was headed.

As soon as they reached the kitchen door and tried to open it, his hand slammed against the door and closed it on his mother who still kept her hand on the handle.

She flashed him an annoyed look that he mirrored with as much intensity. "Walk away," he warned firmly.

"You would _threaten_ your own mother?" she questioned, a challenging eyebrow raised.

In response, he grounded his teeth painfully. "Leave her be— she has done nothing to you."

His mother scoffed, "You are getting much too carried away with your unfounded suspicions. All I want to do is ask her—"

Bao felt the door open and he grimaced inwardly when his mother and himself stepped back to let Norah walk through the door. She had a deep frown on her face, obviously from overhearing that they had been talking about her from the other side of the door.

"Ask me what, exactly?" the younger woman questioned, a displeased tone in her voice as she crossed her arms over her chest. Bao noticed that she looked cleaner, but he pushed the thoughts aside when Tama smiled at her son. Bao huffed loudly and in turn, he crossed his arms over his chest, the muscles in his jaw twitching angrily as Tama came towards her.

"I know you have expressed interest in more work and it so happens there is a position in the other part of the palace that needs attending to— one that is rather important."

Bao noticed the mistrust in Norah's eyes but sighed and asked: "What is it?"

His mother placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze, and it took all his patience not to jerk his shoulder away from her burning touch.

"Bao needs another cup-bearer to help him with the dinners," Tama informed, "I was telling Bao how you would be a great replacement since you are doing so well. You would still have to bake, and you would only be there to serve the evening meals and transport food if they choose to dine in their rooms. For working two jobs instead of the one, your debt with me would be faster paid."

Norah narrowed her eyes as a thoughtful look came across her face, and Bao could see that the girl was starting to consider it. Bao stepped forward, his mother's hand lifting from his shoulder as he gave his mother a direct look, his own eyes narrowed in anger.

"What my mother has _failed_ to mention is who you would be serving," Bao interjected before turning back to Norah.

"Who?" Norah asked, chewing her lip nervously.

"Ferra/Torr," Bao answered, his head nodding minutely in Norah's direction as he gave her heedful stare, "And Erron Black."

Norah's eyes widened instantly in hatred at the name, and she gave Tama a disdainful look that Bao was glad to see and expected.

Bao knew of Erron Black and Norah's deal through conversation with his mother and prayed to the Elder Gods that their unfortunate history with each other was enough for Norah not to accept the deal. He didn't trust his mother in the slightest and knew that her tactical moves were not wasteful ones. There was a reason that she wanted Norah in such a position.

"I know how much you dislike Erron Black—"

Norah let out a loud scoff at Tama's words and shook her head; dislike wasn't even the word to describe the amount of hatred Bao could see etched on her face at the mercenary's name.

"However," Tama continued, "I can assure you your time here will be much shorter here if you agree. I can have another contract written for you to sign if you wish that would guarantee your time served would be much shorter."

"How long did you plan on having me _imprisoned_ here?" Norah spat, "I have yet to see the contract that I am supposed to sign for my services."

"10,000 gold coins for baking bread is a lot of years of debt to repay no matter how skilled at the craft you are or not— not to mention your food and lodging here. The market price I believe still is a bronze coin for a single loaf, Norah, and I know you Earthrealmers do not live very long lives. I should suspect that you would be around Abigail's age when you finished with your contract."

Bao closed his eyes in saddened disbelief when he heard that and only opened them when Norah shouted angrily at his mother.

"I am from Outworld! I am not an Earthrealmer!" Norah yelled furiously at her, an extreme look of malice on her face, "And you cannot _keep_ me here for that long!"

"All I ask is that you commit to your duties with Bao. Do this and I assure you, you will not be here for all of your days," Tama replied calmly, unfaltering as Bao and Norah both seethed angrily at her.

The younger female trembled with rage, and as Tama turned to walk away, Bao had to hold Norah back by her shoulders as his mother said, "I would certainly hate to see you still baking bread at Abigail's age, Norah."

Bao glared at the form of his mother's fleeting presence at the mention of Abigail before she turned the corner. He felt Norah's shoulders shake under his touch and could hear her trying to hide the frustrated sob that broke through her. Bao closed his eyes, sighing sadly for her and kept his hands on her shoulders to try and comfort her.

"P-Please... get your hands off me..." Norah sobbed shakily.

Bao released her with a saddened frown and stepped back to give her space. "Norah. I did not want this for you. I want you to know that..."

He could see her nod her head slightly before she raised a hand to wipe her tears aggressively, suck in a breath and proceed back into the kitchen. Bao tried to follow, but she closed the door on him, leaving him outside staring at the wood of the door with a heavy cloud of guilt hanging over his head.

Norah walked past her dough, leaving it forgotten on the table as well as the loaf in the oven and tried to hide the tears of frustration that spilled unwillingly from her face.

She saw Bert and Carver looking at her with equal expressions of worry, but she ignored them and slammed the door behind her. Seconds after, she collapsed against the wall outside, burrowing her face into her knees and finally letting all of her repressed feelings. Everything from her father's death, losing the tavern, her resentment for Black and Tama's conniving ways flowed freely and soaked into the fabric of her knees as she sobbed pitifully.

Norah heard the door open, and she quickly tried to wipe the tears and compose herself. However, she failed before Bert came over, grasped her under her arms to get her to stand, placed an arm around her shoulders and walked her back inside.

"No tears, Norah, they won't change anything," he told her, rubbing her back with his hand. "You gotta job to do, kid and don't worry— you aren't the only one who has knives for Tama."

Norah looked at him with an appreciative nod before she scrubbed the tears from her eyes and let out a shaky sigh. As Bert led her back inside, she recalled an Earthrealm phrase Carver had used in the past that seemed to sum up the situation.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Once again she would have to deal with Erron Black.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7  
** **Going to Hell in a Bread-Basket**

* * *

A week had passed and Tama's persistence, which Norah had to agree, was very impressive. The baker would've commended her for such dedication if she didn't feel anything else but smoldering hatred towards her. Why couldn't something happen to Tama that drew her attention away? At least it would give her a reprieve from her constant inquiry if she would accept the cup-bearer position or not. On the other side of the line, in Norah's defense, it was clear that the older woman's trait of persistence carried over to Bao as well. He was the opposite — pleading with her to ignore his mother's request —and as a result, she found herself trapped in the middle between mother and son; both of them growing as equally as vexing as the other.

It was painfully obvious to her that Bao obviously knew something that she didn't, and for the first time, she found herself starting to mistrust him. All that he would say was that Tama wanted her in the position for a good reason and while she could sense that he had his suspicions, he still wouldn't share them despite her trying to coax it from him.

The girl started to think it was because it had something to do with Bao being as frightened of his mother as Norah was. The older woman had demonstrated quite clearly that she had the capabilities to ruin the life of anyone she chose— Norah had discovered that firsthand— so who was to say she would not hesitate to do so to her son? If not already.

Over the past week, Norah also couldn't get rid of the suspicion that Tama had done something to Bao. Something dark kept locked in the past between them that caused the younger man to not put forth as much effort as she wanted and thought he would have. Despite how much Bao showed her in the right direction, there was something that his mother had captive on him. Whatever that may be, would remain in secrecy.

The baker opened and locked the door behind her as she entered her room, a lit candle on a candlestick that Bert had given her first week in her hand. Immediately she stopped short when she saw the pile of clothes on the cot that was certainly not there this morning.

The first thing she noticed was the color of the materials were the same deep, rich purple that Bao wore, and that was enough to set her nerves on fire with anger. Norah chewed her lip as the realization came to her that Tama must have had a key to her room and had placed them purposely for her to find.

The older woman may have refused to budge on making her a cup-bearer, but Norah was as equally as stubborn as well.

Tama would have to do much better than that.

She heard a knock at the door and turned to open it with a scowl, dreading that it might be her employer on the other end to aggravate her further. Much to her relief, however, it was just Carver.

"Hey, just a head's up," he began, looking down the corridor apprehensively. "Something went missing from Tama's room and she is sending a guard down here to inspect our rooms. If you got any dirty magazines hide them now."

Norah smiled her thanks for his warning: "What is it that they are looking for?"

The cook shrugged, "A bracelet I think."

He looked past her shoulder, noticed the pile of clothing on her cot and frowned: "She won't give up will she?"

The corner of her mouth tugged to the side, "No."

Both employees suddenly heard footsteps around the corner and turned their heads in the direction of the sound, holding their breaths. Carver looked at Norah and once again looked over her shoulder in her room. "I'll hang out with you, so they don't give you a hard time. They can be dicks— especially with girls."

At first she thought she didn't need his protection, but she heard the layer of seriousness in his voice that rarely came from him, so instead she nodded and stepped aside to let him into her room.

Carver sat on the cot, and without permission, began to fiddle through the pile of purple clothing that Tama had given her. Norah rose and eyebrow at the Earthrealmer while she kept the door open; there was no reason to close it with the guard close by, and rather get it over with as quickly was possible.

"You have told her no right?" the male cook asked when he looked up to see Norah's annoyed expression at his rhetorical question, causing him to chuckle a little. He picked up the first garment, and when Norah saw it, she immediately hated it.

It was a simple purple blouse with tight 3/4 quarter sleeves and a deep V-shaped cut in the front, but what annoyed her the most about it was that it had little fabric to cover her stomach. Although quite modest for most Outworld fashion, she preferred garments that covered her.

"Gonna belly dance for the Kahn?" Carver teased with a smirk when he saw Norah's horrified look. The baker shot him a glare before she felt herself pushed harshly out of the way as a guard came into her room.

The skull-painted guard surveyed the tiny room, looking past the two occupants for the stolen item before he shoved Carver away from the pile of clothing, and signaled him to stand by the door with Norah. The guard looked through her folded clothes on the table until he turned his attention to the cot and started to rummage roughly through it as well as her bedding.

Carver, now at Norah's side, crossed his arms over his chest with the same identical and resentful frown that she had. He gave her a pointed look before rolling a single eye into his skull and silently mouthing something indignant at the guard. Norah stifled a giggle as the guard looked through the cup-bearer garments, unintentionally revealing more of the ensemble that included a long purple skirt of the same color and a teal beaded bib necklace with four strands.

Bao typically wore a teal scarf around his hips as a belt, and when she noticed that the guard didn't care for it, she assumed it was part of the uniform. Although when Carver and Norah saw the gold cuffed bracelet clatter to the ground, both of their eyes widened in alarm. The expensive piece of jewelry was surely _not_ part of the uniform.

The guard grabbed the cuff from the ground and marched towards Norah before Carver could block himself in front of her. He treated the Earthrealmer as if he was a ghost, bypassing him to grab her roughly by her arm and drag her painfully out of the room.

"Wait! I did not do this!" Norah cried, her voice high with panic to the guard. She cringed slightly as he pulled her with little effort. Carver followed closely behind them, also yelling to the guard in her defense that she did not steal the cuff. But the guard was unrelenting, and clearly their pleas fell on deaf ears.

As they turned the corner and saw who was walking briskly towards them, both Carver and Norah knew exactly how and why the cuff had been in Norah's room specifically.

"I am very sorry for all the trouble," Tama interjected, as she came towards the guard, causing him to come to a halt as her eyes landed on the gold bracelet and then back to the baker. Norah glared in contempt at the small smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth before turning to the guard with a false apologetic disposition.

"I just recalled that I had put the cuff on the pile of clothes that I had given her. It must have snuck within the clothing without my knowledge. I apologize for bothering you— there is no harm done here."

The younger Outworlder looked at the guard who appeared annoyed by Tama's words, but accepted the explanation. He let go of the baker with a slight shove before giving the gold cuff back to Tama before disappearing. The elder woman looked behind her shoulder to make sure the guard was far enough away before turning back to them.

"You're a stone, cold bitch... _bitch_ ," Carver fumed with a shake of his head.

Tama looked at him with a blank expression before she turned back to Norah who regarded her with pure contempt. Tama's trick had been very easily translated, her motives very clear. Stealing was a very serious offense— especially if it was a servant that stole from an employer— and if Tama had not said anything, Norah would have no doubt of been executed. This was a warning, and it had been heard loud and clear, especially after what the older woman said next.

"I left your new clothes in your room for you. They will fit you do not worry," she informed nonchalantly, as if she was merely discussing the weather. A new wave of anger crash upon her, and it took all of her patience not to rush towards the odious woman and pull out her hair until she was left bald.

"I will have Bao speak with your tomorrow about what to expect. Make sure you give yourself enough time to finish your bread for the evening meals and to dress," Tama continued with a small nod.

She turned to Carver, who looked absolutely annoyed by his employer's arrogantly calm tone and demeanor.

"Give her a small grooming if you will like you do with the others," Tama commanded simply, "She still looks too ragged for serving the Kahn."

Before an offensive comment could fall from the baker's mouth, she noticed the corner of Carver's mouth twitched up in indignation, "Yes ma'am. Anything else unnecessarily rude you wanna say in front of her?" he replied sharply.

The baker gave the male cook a small appreciative look that he nodded minutely at before they returned their glares back at Tama, who shrugged lightly, her eyes flickering between the two of them before she turned away.

"I am pleased that you are both friends. Always nice thing to see my workers getting along so well," she remarked with a condescending tone.

Tama disappeared after that, walking down the hall with the gold cuff shimmering from the torch lights in her hand. As soon as she was gone, Norah heard Carver say bitterly under his breath: "God I hate that woman."

Norah let out a breathy, congruent laugh at his comment, relaying she felt the same before she felt Carver put a friendly hand on her shoulder that grabbed her attention.

"You alright?" Carver asked with concern.

"Yes," the girl acknowledged before giving him an unconvincing smile, trying to hide that she was shaken. "Thank you for your help."

Carver's hand lifted from her shoulder before he waved it through the air, "It's all good. You are not the only one that Tama has fucked over. She gets a kick outta making all of us miserable."

"I wish it was just me. I cannot imagine what she has done to you all," Norah remarked with a frown.

He shrugged, "She's just a bitch to Bert and me. Abigail, though... she's had it rough."

"What has she done to Abigail?" Norah asked with a sigh heavy of dread; she could only imagine what his answer would be.

"Wish I could tell you. Bao doesn't like to talk about it, but the little I got from him was there was a reason Tama took out her tongue," the Earthrealmer answered with a solemn look.

Norah nodded, his words sinking in. She had honestly suspected something like what Carver had described about Abigail's situation and the more and more Norah remained under Tama's thumb, she wondered when she would have _her_ tongue taken out as well.

"I will say one thing, though, Tama is right— you need a haircut," he said, almost looking as if he was regretting that he agreed with Tama.

Norah frowned at him and grasped her long hair, giving him a hesitant look like it was her own baby he wanted to inflict harm on. Carver laughed and pointed to her eyebrows, wiggling his finger at bother of them back and forth.

"And your eyebrows are more crooked than a politician," Carver said with a lop-sided grin. "What'd you do? Use the door handle as a mirror?"

Norah huffed; so what if she had: "What is this strange obsession with my looks? Do I look so hideous?"

"No, Norah, you're a beautiful unicorn just the way you are," Carver snarked with the roll of his eyes. "But I know there's a prettier lady behind all that sulking and tangled hair."

"I do not sulk!" Norah exclaimed.

The cook rolled his eyes again, "Completely oblivious to compliments are we? And yes, you do _sulk_."

Norah crossed her arms over her chest, a distempered frown on her face as Carver's face pulled into an over-dramatic saddened fashion and pantomimed kneading dough.

"My name's Norah and I'm only from Outworld. Don't talk to me I'm making bread. I make bread all day"— he sulked even harder and pantomimed slamming the oven door closed hard— " Boo Hoo Hoo. The Cowboy was mean to me..."

Carver dropped the act when he saw Norah's face twist into hatred immediately at the nickname he used for Erron Black.

He responded by hesitantly pulling the corner of his mouth into a grimace: "Sorry. Forget that was a subject you don't like. What is up with that anyway? He do something to you? It's pretty obvious you two know each other."

Norah sighed angrily, debating what to tell him until he cut her off and said: "How about I give you a haircut, and you can decide whether you want to tell me about it or not?"

"I do not want my hair cut Carver," she firmly told him.

"You're getting one. You need it _bad_ ," he told her with a humored grimace, "You look like Cousin It."

"I have no idea who that is," the female Outworlder replied plainly. "And you are _not_ cutting my hair."

He laughed and shrugged with a smile, "Too bad. Tama's orders anyway."

Norah gave him a hard look as he suddenly grasped her lightly by the hand and pulled her along. Despite her objection, she decided to let him do whatever calamity to her looks he had in mind. She knew that Carver would not leave her alone regardless and from what she had heard from Bao it was some initiation from Carver that he accepted the victim into his inner circle. Bao, Bert and Abigail were the only ones he helped groom and Norah smiled lightly when she realized that he was using Tama's orders as an excuse. The cook was letting her know he accepted her as a friend and in a place like Outworld, you needed all the friends you could get.

She was just fearful about what the eccentric Earthrealmer had in mind.

* * *

After stopping by his room to grab his grooming materials, Carver sat her outside on the steps by the kitchen door with her back to him on the lower step and himself on the higher one.

"Are you sure you know what you are doing?" Norah asked, still apprehensive.

"I'm more than qualified trust me," he promised, "My momma taught me well."

"Your mother taught you how to cut hair?" she asked with a confused raise of her eyebrow, "Is that a profession in Earthrealm?"

"Yup and she was good at it," the chef told her with a prideful tone. "She owned a beauty salon back on the island. Nothing spectacular but we had ladies and gentlemen of all hair varieties come in. _Paradise Hair_ was the name of the place," — Norah heard him laugh softly— "I practically grew up in that stuffy little salon office. Got my first shave there and gave my first shave to one of the regulars."

She noticed a layer of sadness creep into his voice he tried to hide but failed, "Before I came to Outworld, I picked up a few lessons to help her out on the days she couldn't come in. It's hard to come into work in a place that deals with hair 24/7 when you don't have any left. It took a toll on her even though she did her best to hide it. She was a kind lady who you would have loved. She could get along with anyone."

Norah felt a pang of sadness at his words before he continued, "Well, anyway she passed away and I couldn't keep that place open. I moved to L.A after that but tell you the truth kinda wish I stayed on the island. _Especially_ after coming here."

"I am so sorry about your mother," Norah lamented, glancing over her shoulder slightly. Carver frowned for a moment before he replaced it quickly with a smile.

"Thank's Norah." Carver grasped her head and turned her away from him. "Hold still. Eyes forward."

The younger servant followed his instruction and felt her hands grow clammy when she heard something snip and felt her hair shift slightly from behind her back.

"Hold this," Carver told her, reaching over her side and handing her something. When she felt what it was and looked upon it, her jaw dropped. She held a good four inches of hair in her hand. Immediately her other hand reached around to grab what was left of the hair she had left and discovered that it came just passed her chest. She never in her entire life had hair this short!

"Carver!"

"Don't give me that— it's all dead anyway. You could have stuffed scarecrows with it, and besides, I bet you head feels lighter. You got stringy hair but there's a lot of it," Carver said before he stood up and went around her until she was face to face with him. He didn't seem to notice her unhappy look, or just blatantly ignored it, and began to grab at the hair that hung closest to her face, the scissors still in his hand.

"Tell me about you and Black," he asked while he continued to remain lost in his thoughts. "Why do you want to stab each other?"

Norah exhaled, her memory flashing across her mind bitterly and causing her to scoff slightly under her breath. "He brought me here."

Carver gave her a dubious look, "That's it? He brought you here that's why you hate him? Hold still, this might feel a little weird."

She was about to interject, but he had already opened his scissors and using the sharpened end, cut through her hair diagonally like he was slicing paper. Norah did cringe at the feel, it felt like he was tugging at the strands individually although she felt no pain from it.

Norah felt her shortest of her hair hit the side of her jaw and she brushed it away by blowing air out the corner of her mouth. The rest of her hair looked liked it tapered, almost layering over each as it made it's other it's way down off the closer it got to the end. She felt slightly irked that he had cut so much. Before she could complain, he did the same thing on the opposite side of her face.

Norah felt him run his hands through her new cut hair and gave it a slight shake. Carver smiled at her appearance despite Norah feeling incredibly apprehensive about how it looked.

The cook dug in his bag for a small mirror and held it up to her and she found herself pleasantly surprised at what she saw. Instead of a massive curtain of hair the same length, her dark wavy hair framed her face more nicely and the smaller pieces brought more attention to her face. She felt it made her face look prettier as a result; a word she never used to describe herself before even though the baker felt the length was too short. The awkward girl smiled at her appearance nonetheless; pleased that it wasn't as horrible as she thought it would be even though it would be something of an adjustment.

Carver seemed pleased by her reaction and smiled, "Should I leave you and the mirror alone for a while?" He wiggled his eyebrows slightly and Norah frowned at him in response, though a ghost of a smile refused to budge from her face.

He brushed it off and said: "I restrained myself too. I figure you would punch me if I went any shorter."

She nodded in appreciation as he handed her the mirror for her to have a closer look at while he dug for the tweezers in his grooming bag.

Norah heard him sigh slightly and she looked up to meet his look: "If you don't wanna chit-chat about Black I won't push it, but if it means anything, I'm glad you're here even if you don't want to be. I know Bert likes you too, and I'm sure Bao and Abbie—"

"Carver... thank you," she interrupted softly, smiling warmly at him before she swallowed nervously. He had opened up to her about his mother when he didn't have to and frankly, it was nice to have someone she could trust that she felt would take her side of the story. However, Carver was still rather new to her, so she only told him the condensed version she felt comfortable sharing.

"Black forced a deal with me that included me bringing him deliveries. My father and I... we had trouble paying what was owed to the men that we rented the tavern from. On the day my father died, Black was in a position to help and he did nothing. I lost everything. Eventually, Erron Black was the one that brought me here because Tama had paid him to do so."

"I'm sorry about your father," he told her sympathetically.

Norah kept still, her teeth clamped tightly before she continued, "Erron Black has been nothing but cruel to me and I was hoping Tama would not have forced me to become a cup-bearer. Now I will have to see him every night."

"Maybe you can poison him if he gives you a hard time," Carver jested, and she let out a breathy laugh even though it did little to improve her mood.

"It'll be ok, Norah. If Erron Black gives you any more trouble, send him to me and I'll deal with him... or Bert, better yet send him to Bert," Carver joked. Norah tried to find the humor in his words, but she instead found herself sighing, anxious about what to expect tomorrow night.

Carver pulled out the tweezers and snapped the ends together a couple of times in a teasing but threatening manner. Norah's mismatched eyebrows pulled together in concern.

"Alright, enough about Yosemite Sam. Let's fix those caterpillars."

* * *

The next day, a couple of hours before he would have to go to his duties for the evening meal, Bao had finished talking to Bert and had found out what his mother had done to Norah to convince her to accept the job. After that, Bao had left the kitchen and went to his mother's room, banging on the door with three hard thuds; completely furious. When his mother opened the door, an enraged scowl formed on his face at his mother's pleasant demeanor.

"What in all the realms is wrong with you?" he demanded angrily. His mother answered him with a smile and it just aggravated him even more.

"Are you worried about _The Marking_? Is that why you are so livid with me?" she asked him, acting purposely obtuse. Her son's temper boiled over and threatened to spill like lava on the rim of a volcano, but instead he heard himself exhaling out of his nose in anger.

"No... Mother, I am sure you have found some strategy to counter that," Bao growled through his teeth.

"You are right. I have," Tama responded blasely before she frowned slightly, "But unfortunately, Norah still holds her fate in her hands. I have just removed certain obstacles that will ensure she makes it through most of _The Marking_ somewhat intact."

"No of course you would not lessen her torment even though she has done nothing to you!" he shouted, his fists gripped tight in anger.

"It was not intentional to cause her so much torment, but I did manage to remove some of the burdens she will face," The older woman said with a deep frown. "Perhaps you should be a bit more gracious. It did not come without a steep price."

Bao scoffed, "Yes I am sure it was at a high cost for you. I am sorry to hear that you found yourself at such an inconvenience. Who was it you had to spread your legs for this time?"

Tama's face darkened into a cross expression, "You are not old enough for me to no longer still lay my hands on. Talk to me in such a manner again and I will make your teeth rattle from my hand striking across your face!"

He shook his head at her remark and turned to walk away but heard his mother behind him: "Please assist Norah as much as you can. I would hate to have my money wasted because she could not pass _The Marking_. Although I have no doubt she is strong enough, please do watch over our little _false_ Outworlder. You are good at such things; perhaps they should proclaim you new Protector of Earthrea—"

"Enough!"

Tama stopped when the word left his mouth, silencing her from the sheer intensity of his anger and the scornful expression he flashed her with before he turned back and walked away.

Bao stormed in the direction of the kitchen, his mother's voice still ringing in his ears and causing his stride to quicken as a result. The woman was a plague among them. Why was she doing this? Couldn't the past be left to wither and die in the past like it should have? Why was he given such a mother who wanted nothing else but to ruin the lives of people that just wanted peace?

He sighed when he finally reached the door of the kitchen, a regretful feeling settling deep within him that he was playing a small, unwilling role in his mother's schemes. He opened the door to find Bert, Carver and Abigail finishing up their duties and frowned when he failed to see Norah but saw her bread cooling on the table.

"She's changing into her new uniform," Bert answered, giving the younger man a pointed dour look.

"It was never my idea to have Norah as a cup-bearer," Bao said with a slightly defensive tone, still heated from his argument with his mother. Bert didn't comment, but Bao heard Carver snort loudly at his statement.

"Be quiet, Carver," Bao retaliated weakly.

"You know what you need to do?" Carver confronted, his brown eyes bugged wide in anger at him. "You need to stop being such a chicken-shit and stand up to your mother for once."

"My mother will not listen to me. She is unrelenting!"

"She's also the biggest bitch in all of Outworld," he concluded with a pointed look. "And I've met some pretty bitchy people here."

Bao bit his tongue, refusing to say something he might regret and instead opted for casting his glance at the bread cooling down on the table and exhaling.

There was nothing he could do at this point now...

It wasn't long until Norah walked back through the door, and Bao's eyes widened at the entirely new person he saw before him.

Her appearance was different from the baker he had seen yesterday; she was far more polished and looked more like an Earthrealmer than she had did before. Her eyebrows were trimmed, shaped and unlike her previous effort, matched. Her dark wavy hair that was usually hidden underneath a white scarf or tied up fell past her chest delicately, and the shorter wisps of hair framed her face, drawing more attention then she seemed to desire.

Bao immediately frowned at the uniform she was wearing, knowing beforehand that Norah only preferred loose fitting garments that covered her and her uniform was anything but shapeless. The top was cut low, revealing much of her cleavage but still provided enough coverage for her breasts while the material stopped just above her navel. It also showed her flat stomach and tapered waist that rounded out into womanly hips. She wore a long purple skirt that looked like it needed to be hemmed desperately as Tama's son watched her feet tangle into the material bunching on the floor. It matched the top and it situated just below her navel as well with a purple tie to keep the material from falling.

She clutched nervously at the teal beaded bib necklace as if the jewelry was choking her as all of their eyes fell on her. Bao saw her cheeks grow red from embarrassment; clearly uncomfortable being the center of attention and cleared her throat as she looked to the stone floor of the kitchen.

"I. Hate. This," she uttered sourly, her tone clearly displeased. The male cooks chuckled lightly from where they stood, still preparing the meals.

"You look good kid; you don't have to worry," Bert told her genuinely.

"Ya, Norah you clean up good for a girl," Carver jabbed slightly.

Norah shot him an annoyed look and frowned when she saw Abigail give her grimace on her behalf and turned her attention back to the pots. Norah looked at him for an explanation, but he shook his head and walked up to her.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"No. I am not ready," she answered honestly. Bao heard Carver bark a laugh at her answer from behind him.

Instead, the male cup-bearer nodded and motioned his hand towards the door, letting Norah walk through it first before he took the lead. He noticed she was having trouble keeping up and turned his head lightly over his shoulder to see her grabbing at her skirt, lifting it slightly, so her feet didn't trip over the fabric. After that, she caught up to him and they walked in silence down the corridors.

As Bao walked her down the corridors, he began to tell her what to expect, and she listened silently, nodding her head every so often in acknowledgement.

"There will be two sets of pitchers for you to use on a table by your station: one for water and one for wine. You will know which one to fill by the goblet they hold up for you. Everyone is different with how they will let you know if they need their cup refilled or not. Ferra will definitely let you know. Usually, she is loud about what she needs but do not get offended by her. Erron Black is harder to read so you will have to pay attention to how he signals you."

The baker frowned hard and Bao sighed, hoping that the dinner would not go as horrible as he was expecting it to, but by Norah's reaction alone, he had a terrible feeling he was assuming correctly that it would.

"You are to speak when spoken to and you are not to make eye contact unless they ask you a question," he told her sternly, making sure she heeded his words.

"Keep your emotions under control, Norah. If they see any flicker of resentment they will notice. You serve them when they need it and you will remain against the wall as if you do not exist until they need their cup filled again."

They finally reached a large, heavy wooden door with intricate gold metal around the trim and Bao took the opportunity to stop her before they went in to give her the most vital piece of information.

"Norah, under no circumstances— life or death— do you reveal to anyone the conversations that go on behind this door. This position is dangerous because of what we can overhear, and we are to remain mute about what they talk about," the male cupbearer told her seriously.

She nodded slightly, "I understand."

He didn't feel convinced by her absent acceptance and grabbed her by the shoulders lightly, his eyes boring into hers strongly and causing her eyes to widen under the weight of his powerful and worried expression.

"Norah. Do _not_ breathe one word of what they say. No matter what they threaten you with. No matter what they do to you. You choose death instead of revealing what they discuss. Do you understand my words?"

She shrunk back, blinking at him before her face fell into a look of deep thought, absorbing what he said and making Bao feel that he had finally reached her.

"Bao. I will not say a word," Norah promised earnestly. Bao breathed a sigh of relief and released her shoulders. He noticed her brows bridge together in thought, pondering his words and why he had been severe with them. He opened the door and allowed her inside first before he closed it behind him.

The male Outworlder let her have a moment to absorb her surroundings. There was a large, dark wooden dining table already set for dinner with a large, red cushioned and gold trimmed chair for the Kahn to sit in at the end. There were also other chairs around the table for his guards that were not as overwhelming ornate as the throne.

Her eyes followed around, noticing the tables placed around the outside of the table alongside the wall with the two copper colored pitchers on both. One for her side, one for his side and one against the wall behind the Kahn's chair. The room was windowless but still had held two red abstract tapestries against the wall, one at the very end and one behind the Emperor's chair. From Norah's expression, he could tell that she was expecting something grander in mind.

"This is where they prefer to eat due to the quietness and the Kahn only chooses to dine in the Main Hall when there is a feast taking place," the male cupbearer informed her. She nodded quietly in response as he touched her shoulder lightly and guided her around the table, placing her by the table with the pitchers that were opposite his side. Grabbing her shoulders lightly, he pushed her into position, her back to the wall, and then reached over to grab the water pitcher. He held it up for her to hold which she took, holding the handle in her hand with the pitcher faced out in front of her.

He shook his head and moved her hands until she had the pitcher's handle off to the side while placed her other hand underneath to cup under the pitcher; the pitcher placed against her chest. There were already goblets on the table and Bao took the ones for Erron Black and showed them to her. They were identical except for the shape and Norah's eyes flickered between them trying to decipher which was for what beverage.

He lifted the wider of the two and showed it to her, "Water"— Bao lowered it and raised up the narrower— "Wine."

Norah nodded, memorizing the cups before he sat them down and walked to the chair that was left of her. "This is where Ferra will sit and Black will sit on the end."

"What about Torr?" she asked, "I thought I would be serving both Ferra _and_ Torr?"

He grimaced, "You still are, but Torr is an unusual circumstance that will have to wait until after dinner."

"I don't understand," Norah admitted with a slight shake of her head.

"You will. I will help you with that as well," Bao briefed. She noticed he frowned slightly for a moment as if recalling something. Norah nodded apprehensively but didn't argue or call attention to the look he gave her.

Norah jumped slightly when the door to the room suddenly opened and a massive and imposing figure walked through the door. Bao chuckled when he saw how confused she was; he had the same reaction when he first met him.

The man was a massive tower of muscle that hid under the uniform of dark purple, teal and black he wore, making Bao look something of a stick in his attire. He had an intricate bowl cut of jet black hair and piercing white eyes that looked at Norah quizzically, almost not expecting to see a woman as the replacement for the position. He was Osh-Tekk as well but the one aspect that was the most important, one that caused Norah to panic with confusion, was he was a doppelganger of the Emperor himself; although he did not wear the green and blue body paint the Kahn usually did.

Bao laughed slightly and nodded towards the Osh-Tekk, "This is Matlal. He is the cupbearer for the Kahn. He also serves other purposes that I am sure you can figure out by just his appearance."

After the initial shock of thinking it was the Kahn himself, Norah nodded in his direction with a benevolent smile. Matlal frowned, seeming displeased with her and took his position behind the throne without returning her gesture.

Her eyes narrowed in his direction, but she didn't say anything. Soon after the introductions, servants came in with Carver and Bert's meals that they had prepared as well as her bread that they placed in the middle of the table. The male servant motioned her to take a position against the wall that she did immediately, holding the water pitcher like he had shown her. Bao noticed her exhale a shaky breath, naturally nervous, and he gave her a small, comforting smile in her direction.

After the servants had left, the meals at their designated places, the Kahn's guards started to trickle in one by one.

Ermac was the first to appear, opening the door telekinetically and sitting down in silence. He didn't regard Norah and stared straight ahead, almost as if he was lost in the silent conversation between the thousands of souls within him. Bao noticed she seemed very wary of him, but she was making an effort not to let it show by looking at a spot behind Bao's shoulder.

Reptile walked in soon after that, took a glance at Norah and scoffed loudly before he sat down, waiting impatiently for the others to show. Bao looked at Norah, her eyes glued more intently on the spot on the wall and not on the Zaterran who she seemed uncomfortable by.

Ferra was the next take her seat, and she was the first of the guards to acknowledge Norah.

"Bread-lady!" was all the Ferra said as she took her seat, her legs swinging over the side as she looked at Norah. She smiled at the girl and looked at the spot at the wall again, trying to disappear as much as she could like Bao had instructed. The symbiote continued to look at her, and Bao could see the hesitance creep up into her face under Ferra's gaze before the last of the Kahn's guards walked through the door and changed the atmosphere completely.

Bao noticed that it took Erron Black a couple of seconds to recognize that it was Norah but as soon as he did, his eyes narrowed unwelcomely in her direction; simultaneously flabbergasted and irritated that she was there against the wall behind where he normally sat. Bao could see that she refused look at him but felt his stare on her. The male cupbearer watched her jaw tighten, the muscle ribboning under her skin before disappearing, before it seemed she couldn't resist, and looked in his direction finally.

He noticed the gunslinger's hands hover to rest of the handles of his pistols as he sauntered over to his side of the table, his footsteps echoing slow against the stone floor. Their mutual hatred towards each other didn't go unnoticed, and it had caught the attention of everyone that watched silently.

Bao saw Norah's chest rise and fall in anger the closer he got, and finally met his expression with as much ire as he conveyed. He could feel the tension between the two as Black looked down at her for a few moments before grabbing the chair behind him and pulled it towards him without looking behind him.

The chair let out a groan as it slid across the stone and Bao couldn't help but cringe lightly as it rang in his ears harshly. He paused for a second, giving her one last scathing look and sat down in his chair and pulled it in. He leaned against the back with an arm draped across the top of it while the fingers on his other hand drummed against the surface of the table.

Norah's eyes stayed narrowed at the back of his head until Kotal Kahn finally came through the door and took his seat although the suffocating tension was still present between Norah and Black.

Bao sighed.

It was going to be a long dinner.

* * *

Norah knew it was going to be a long dinner as soon as she saw Erron Black come through the door.

She had honestly tried her best to ignore him, however, as soon as her eyes locked with his, she saw nothing but the reason she was even standing in the palace and her unbearable hatred for him returned to her like a dark stain on her mood.

Norah noticed he did not even seem to recognize her at first since the last time they had seen each other in the hall. But, as soon as he did, he narrowed his eyes as venomously at her as she did. She felt her hand grip the handle of the pitcher uncomfortably, almost painfully, as he walked over to her blatantly slowly; as if he was making sure his footsteps echoed loudly against the stone.

Eventually he stopped right in front of her, and she glared up at him. His blue eyes grazed over her with a stormy disposition, almost questioning her silently as to why she was here in front of him; challenging her to confront him. She was a head shorter than him and she could barely make out the brim of his hat above her head as he raked his eyes over her attire. He looked back to her face with a small mocking grin tugging out the corner of his mouth.

Black didn't have his face mask on and she could make out the small amount of stubble on his strong, square jaw. Norah also noticed that his face was slightly lighter than other parts of his face; tan lines from his mask that he wore almost always. She could also make out the small scar that ran across his nose, probably from being broken at some point, or knowing him, multiple times. Funny, as he continued to glare at her, she also felt the strong desire to break his nose.

She heard him let out a small _'hmph'_ under his breath, as if he was scoffing her, and pulled the chair from behind him without breaking off his heated stare. She cringed inwardly as he purposely dragged it loudly across the stone floor as if trying to elicit some reaction from her but she only responded by flickering her eyes off to the side as if he didn't exist. Black didn't respond in turn, only staring resentfully at her before he took his seat. She couldn't stop herself from staring at the back of his head with complete hatred as he sat relaxed with his back to her and arrogantly drummed his fingers on the table.

He only straightened up when the Kahn walked through the door and it was enough of a distraction for her to forget minutely about her moment with the mercenary. Still, it wasn't enough, as Norah still felt anger clutch at her chest like a heavy stone on her ribs, making it hard to concentrate on anything else. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the blue form of the Emperor that sat in the chair, regarded her briefly and turned his attention towards his bodyguards. He nodded slightly; allowing them permission to eat.

Norah saw as the guards pushed their water goblets absently to the side, as if this was the routine as they dug into their meals. Norah watched as Bao and Matlal came forward and filled the goblets that had been pushed off to the side for them.

She noticed that Ermac and Erron were the only ones that did not do so. The baker copied the others and filled Ferra's goblet with water quickly before returning to her position against the wall shortly after Bao and Matlal did. Norah glanced at Erron, who kept his eyes forward, his finger tapping slightly by his plate.

"Anything of interest to report from the Kuatan Jungle?" The Emperor's deep voice cut it, addressing the Zaterran that was ripping apart the small chunk of meat in front of him savagely.

Norah thought she felt bile creep up in her throat as she watched him but swallowed it down quickly. She looked elsewhere and decided to keep her eyes fixed on Ferra in case she needed anything else, she doubted Erron would ask for water from her for a while even though he started to eat. Norah hoped he choked on his food at some point so she could avoid having to serve him anything.

"None," Reptile hissed as he chewed loudly, glancing in the construct's direction briefly, "The trail has run cold. The Edenians are nowhere in the jungle."

Ermac seemed somewhat annoyed by the Zaterran's news and shot a pointed look in his direction, "Our information is precise. The Edenians still linger in the Kuatan Jungle."

Reptile's lips curled in a snarl, "Then find them yourself! I say they are not."

"You search with laziness," Ermac commented passively. "We have noticed."

Reptile slammed a fist down, causing his plate to jump slightly and making Norah flinch. "Then you search for them! Stray away from your aqueducts for a day if you can muster such a feat!"

"Enough. Syzoth, you will continue your search in the jungle for the Edenians," Kotal Kahn ordered, silencing both of the guards. Reptile grimaced but nodded his head in compliance at the Kahn request. Norah noticed Matlal giving her a hard look in her direction, and she looked at him briefly before looking at the back of Ferra's head.

Silence drifted between the room again, only the sound of cutlery scraping against the plate as they ate in silence. Norah noticed her bread go untouched in the middle of the table until Kotal Kahn made a reach for the plate, but Ferra had snatched the rim of the plate before he had even reached halfway across the table for it.

Kotal Kahn raised an eyebrow at the smaller girl, comically reprimanding her with a single eyebrow raised. The female symbiote didn't seem to notice his annoyed, but still somewhat amused expression, as she disregarded the bread knife and tore out a large section out of the bread; leaving a small bit mangled on the bread plate.

Ferra was about to shove the torn off loaf in her mouth when she noticed the Emperor looking at her and nodded his head slightly in her direction. She sighed as if in defeat and reached for the smaller loaf and switched it on the bread plate. The Emperor grabbed the bread plate and pulled it towards him while Ferra chewed on the smaller portion with her elbow propped against the table and her chin resting in her hand with a pout.

Erron Black noticed Ferra's saddened look as she chewed slowly on the bread she was given and looked briefly in Norah direction with almost a slight sneer: "Quit your whining, Ferra. Bread doesn't taste that good."

The baker's hand tightened around the handle of the pitcher, her knuckles turning white as she flashed the back of gunslinger's head with an angry look. It was a low, purposeful remark for her and it only made it worse when he suddenly pushed the empty water goblet to the side with a flick of his hand, causing the goblet to teeter slightly.

She breathed in deeply, trying her very best not to show that she was angered by the gesture. She walked forward with a stern face, but her eyes betrayed her and Bao gave her a sharp look, reminding her to gain a hold of herself.

She exhaled quietly and calmed herself as quickly as she could, although inside she was boiling with rage. She walked forward with a blank expression, just about to pour the water when she felt her foot stumble upon the bundled up fabric of the skirt that was too long.

Norah held the pitcher above her head instinctively as she fell forward. It did little to help her, as she felt the underside of her jaw connect with the edge of the table with a dull thud. It sent a thunderbolt of pain through her as she hit the floor and Ferra cackled loudly at her; the small girl almost falling out of her own chair.

With the pitcher held over her head, she opened her mouth and twisted her eyes shut as if she was silently screaming in pain under the table. Her hand clutched at her jaw before she shot to her feet and plastered on a deadpan expression as fast as she could and poured water in Black's goblet. Her hand went back to her side as if nothing at all had happened, but her eyes threatened to brim over with tears of pain that she blinked back.

Ferra's laugh tapered off as soon as she had gotten up and Norah kept her eyes to the goblet. Her jaw throbbed in pain and she could feel every pair of eyes fixed in her direction including the mercenary to her side. Black had a raised eyebrow at her before he rolled his eyes and slid the goblet back towards him after she was done.

Norah took her place against the wall again, only then drinking in their reactions to her clumsiness. She looked across the table to see Reptile looking at her as if she was a complete imbecile and scoffed. Meanwhile, Bao had his hands over his eyes as if in embarrassment for her before he dragged the same hand over his face and sighed softly.

She rubbed her jaw with her hand, massaging it slightly as Kotal Kahn shook his head and pushed aside her moment. For the remainder of the dinner, they discussed the last of the Tarkatan rebel forces and if there was any news on their whereabouts.

As they talked, the baker could feel a bruise forming on her jaw as she continued to wait for Ferra or Black to signal her. Meanwhile, Norah occupied herself and ran scenarios through her head, completely ignoring the conversation about what the Kahn was discussing and instead found herself daydreaming about all the horrendous ways Black and Tama could die horribly in her mind. Usually, such morbid thoughts were more befitting of children who threw temper tantrums but a small smile came to her face as she thought of nothing else. She grinned widely as she pictured setting that ridiculous hat he wore on his head on fire, but caught Bao mouthing at her to 'stop it' before she resumed a placid demeanor.

Ferra waved her goblet at her, and she filled it immediately; growing a tad more comfortable serving her as the discussion dragged on.

Every so often Reptile would interrupt and tell the Kotal Kahn something that he either nodded at or waved off. Ferra didn't say much that pertained to the topic— usually it was about who Torr and Ferra killed that day— and Ermac only spoke when he felt the information was wrong. Black didn't say anything during the entire conversation, and Norah knew it was because he hated being around her as much as she did. Otherwise, she figured he would of at least said something. She also noticed due to her presence, he didn't ask for another refill even though his goblet was dry, and she watched him swallow every so often as if trying to wet his throat.

Good. She hoped he died of dehydration by the time the meal was over.

Eventually, the meal did end and the Emperor was the first to leave. Matlal followed right behind him, and as the Emperor rose from the table, the guards did as well as a show of respect and took their seats once more as he left. As soon as the door closed, Ermac followed behind; his plate cold and untouched. Reptile left as soon as he finished pulling apart the meat and stormed out as well, seemingly full and satisfied.

Ferra surprised Norah as she jumped from her chair and came up to her.

"Torr want not-sweet bread too— you make as well!" She demanded, jabbing a finger in her direction. Norah nodded her head in compliance, a worried expression on her face before Ferra nodded and ran off.

Leaving Bao, Norah and Erron Black alone.

The silence fell heavy around all three of them and Bao looked as tight as spring, ready to intervene if Black did anything. Instead the mercenary kept his eyes on the empty plate. Norah waited— waiting for some demeaning remark she knew he had ready at his disposal to use long before the others left the room.

"Moving up in the world?" he suddenly asked, his tone sarcastic, "From where I'm sittin' it looks like you are back were you first started. Giving me drinks."

There it was, and it took every patient fiber within her not to hit him across the back of the head with the metal pitcher she had in her hands.

He stood and turned to face her with a smug look that Norah fumed at. Black smirked vainly and crossed his arms over his chest as his eyes grazed over her once again from head to toe.

"I like the outfit," he mocked with a grin. "Too bad you didn't wear it when we first met. Might have paid you more."

The water left the pitcher in her hand when she violently jerked it forwards and splashed him across the face. He stumbled back lightly in surprise when the water hit him and he glared at her as she let the pitcher clang carelessly to the ground in anger, returning his look with as much ire. Bao had come around the table but stopped when he got close to them. Unsure if he really wanted to get in Erron Black's way but also fearful for Norah; he waited off to the side until he was needed.

"I am not some slave you can treat like a worm and I am no longer your employee," Norah spat at him venomously, "You will _not_ speak to me in that way again."

She gasped in surprise when his hand shot out and grabbed her by the top of her shoulder, pushing her into the wall, as he closed the distance between them; the water rolling off his face and onto her as he towered over her menacingly.

"You keep forgettin' who you're talking to," Black told her lowly. "I could shoot you in the head right now and nobody would give a shit."

Norah swallowed his words bitterly, her face dropping as he gripped her shoulder tightly. He dipped his face a little closer to hers and she shrunk back even further into the wall, his expression darkening at her in a malicious and almost humored way; his eyes flickered over to Bao before returning to her.

"But we both know I won't need to waste the bullet on you," he flouted at her, his eyebrow quirking up slightly as a grin tugged at his mouth. Her eyebrows bridged together at the disdainful and strange comment.

He released her shoulder and stood straight. She breathed heavily at him, her chest rising and falling in anger as she gave him a mistrustful stare, unsure what his last comment meant.

He regarded her with a scornful look before he smiled, almost triumphantly, his voice dripping with sarcasm and said: "Nice knowing you."

He walked away after that and left her with another layer to the confusion. The door closed behind him, and Norah let out a sigh of relief when he left.

Bao came up to her in a fast-paced stride. "Have you lost your mind? He could have killed you!"

"It is not the first time he has threatened to kill me," Norah shot back bitterly.

Bao sighed heavily her, the worry evident in his eyes as she went to pick up the pitcher she had discarded on the floor. Her thoughts raced at Black's words and she turned to him for an explanation.

"What did he mean that he would not need to waste the bullet?" she asked Bao, seeing if maybe he had an answer.

Norah saw Bao swallow nervously before he shook his head, "I have no idea, Norah."

Before she could pose another question, the servants came in after that and collected the plates. In silence, Norah gave Bao a doubtful look. Norah wasn't convinced by his answer and she could tell that he was not sharing something; a gut feeling she felt that complimented the way his eyes tried to avoid hers uncomfortably.

What was it that was so important that she couldn't know?

Soon after, they left the room and walked to the slave's dining hall to retrieve Torr's food. Norah started to feel a small wedge try and squeeze it's way between the friendship she felt towards Bao and allowing mistrust to seep in through the cracks. She attempted to push it out of her mind, and tried to remind herself that he would never do anything malicious intentionally and perhaps he had his reasons. However, Norah still felt very uncomfortable about the prospect that he was keeping things from her that might involve her, and she grimaced at the thought that maybe he wasn't someone who could be trusted.

Her feelings about not being able to trust Tama's son elevated when he led her down the hall. She noticed that he was brushing the top of his thumb nervously against the tops of his fingers, looking as if he was fidgeting. Norah also noticed he tried to keep ahead of her no matter how much she tried to keep up as if he was purposely trying to forget that she was following him.

"Are you alright?" she questioned.

He nodded his head and flashed a small smile that she could tell was false. It sent a wave of alarm through Norah— especially when she began to notice that the corridors he was leading her through were very unfamiliar.

"Where are we going?"

"To the dining hall," he answered quickly.

A lie. Norah knew it the moment she heard it.

She clutched at the teal necklace she wore absently, feeling as if it was choking her, but she knew it was the lump of nervousness she felt in her throat. Something was wrong and she knew it.

The baker also started to feel somewhat angry with Bao and stared at the back of his head with resentment. She had no idea with what he had in mind but continued to follow him regardless, also somewhat curious about what he was planning for her. Although the idea of running did bounce around in her mind.

They came to the end of a hallway with a door at the end of it and the male cupbearer led her through. Both of them entered into a small room that looked like a simple training area. Norah could see the shadows of the sharp and dangerous weapons that hung on the racks on the wall in the darkness, the light from the torches outside providing the only lighting for the room.

The room didn't frighten her but what did was the way that Bao turned slowly towards her with a deep, regretful frown on his face.

"I am truly sorry about this Norah," he told her, his tone carrying guilt.

Norah was about to ask him what he was talking about before a hand grabbed her around the chest, pinning her arms to her sides while another hand clamped over her mouth. She thrashed immediately in the iron hold while her hands tried to remove the piece of cloth she felt scratching at her cheeks and lips that muffled her screaming. She could tell it was a man behind her, a rather muscular, large man who had so much strength that it didn't seem it took much effort on his part to keep her steady.

Norah could barely make out the dried herbs that were sandwiched slightly through the fabric in her panic and screamed louder, understanding why there was a cloth over her mouth now.

She looked at him, furious that he had done this to her and noticed that he was turning into a dark blur as she started to feel herself grow slack from exhaustion. Her eyelids drooped as she fought for consciousness with all her will, but unfortunately felt the muscles in her arms began to grow impossibly heavy while her entire body grew weaker.

Darkness came almost inevitably after that and Norah went limp in the arms of her attacker.

Bao sighed heavily as Matlal scooped up Norah's unconscious body and swung her over his shoulder like he was carrying a heavy bag. Matlal looked at him, wondering if he was going to follow him to watch and Bao shook his head.

"Torr still needs to be given his meal," was his answer, a heavy cloud of discomfort hanging over him as he tried not to look at the Osh-Tekk's carry; a reminder of how low he felt. Matlal gave a slight shrug statement but didn't say anything and carried Norah off down the hallway.

Bao rubbed the back of his neck with his palm, feeling like the dirtiest piece of garbage in all of Outworld despite that he knew this was the plan ever since his mother wanted Norah as a cup-bearer. It was an initiation that Norah would have to go through and one that could not be avoided.

He prayed to whatever Elder God that was listening that he hoped his mother was right— that Norah was strong enough to pass through the evaluation and he wouldn't lose another to _The Marking_.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**   
**Stuck in the Middle With You**

* * *

The first thing that Norah noticed when she woke up from her groggy and dreamless sleep was that she was not in her cot. Instead, she found herself sitting in a chair with her head reclined back and a horrendous dull headache pounding against her forehead. Her eyes opened slowly, blinking to clear the fogginess in her vision as she adjusted to the soft orange light glowing around the room. She groaned softly and brought her head forward, the ache in her neck from sleeping in an uncomfortable position making it difficult to move it. Finally, feeling her last bit of sleep leave her she as she looked down; an unfamiliar pain etching into the skin of her wrists. A frightened gasp escaped her when she looked down to see that her hands tied by rope to each of the arms of the wooden chair she was sitting in. She tugged, trying to pull at them and only succeeded in the sharp fibers scratching her wrists.

"Hello, my dear," called a saccharine male voice.

The baker lifted her head towards the voice and sucked in a breath, startled to see she wasn't alone.

The lean muscular man across from her, sitting cross-legged on a table, smiled wickedly at her feeble efforts to get free. The room's walls were stone and the only light in the room was provided by the fireplace behind the table he sat and the various torches that hung on the wall; casting her captor in an ominous glow.

From her first impression of him she guessed he was Edenian— certainly an Outworlder— and it looked like he had been waiting for her to wake up for a while. His jet black clothing was the same color as his hair, all of it bundled into a top-knot, while the only color other black he had was a simple red belt cloth around his waist. He stared at her in amusement and Norah felt a nervous stone sink into the pit of her stomach, especially when she looked on the table to see malicious looking instruments behind him. She had never seen him before, and if she wasn't in the predicament she was in, might say he was rather handsome, but all she felt was terror flooding her.

He smiled sardonically at her, his eyes lit with humor, "I was wondering if you would wake soon." His voice carried a smoothing tenor, but she didn't feel anything close to warmth from it.

The man scratched his straight and sharp nose with the edge of his finger before he suddenly jumped from the table and sauntered over to her. His footsteps echoing slowly and methodically as he came to her. He gave her a smile as his brown eyes regarded her with a predatory gleam and she felt herself start to breathe a little faster.

_Why was she here?_

Then she remembered.

Bao...

He had led her into a trap.

The thought of Bao's betrayal sent a flare of anger through her and it was only when she saw the Edenian in front of her did she pull away from her momentary rancor towards Tama's son.

His eyebrow quirked at her as if he was pleased by her, like a hawk with a nesting dove. Norah gave him a pointed glare, as if challenging him to say or do something. His hand reached out for her and cupped under her chin, causing her to flinch away from his touch. He held her still with little effort as she felt his fingers prod at the bruise she had under her chin from hitting the table earlier. The girl hissed slightly as he smoothed his thumb along her jawline, her glare still fixed on him as he cracked a smile.

"That is a nasty bruise for such a lovely face," he commented with a grin, "Hopefully I will not have to add any more."

He let her face go with a slight flick of his hand and she let out a shaky sigh of relief when he did. Although he did not stop there.

"May I?" he asked and before she could protest, his hands reached behind her neck and unclasped the necklace she wore. He looked at it satisfactorily before he lifted it slightly at her. "My wife thanks you for the gift."

Norah fixed her narrowed eyes at him, "Why am I here?" Her voice meek but angry as she watched him walk back to the table, put the necklace aside, and jump to sit on it again with his hands clasped together in his lap.

"We heard that there was a new cup-bearer sitting in at Kotal Kahn's dinners," he relayed to her evenly, his eyes flickered over her body and she felt annoyance sweep through her when he did. "They never said it was a woman. Must say it is a welcome change from the others."

"What others?" Norah asked.

He shrugged nonchalantly, "The other cup-bearers that came before you"— he reached down and picked up a small pair of flat-nosed pliers and clicked them absently—"Many fingernails I have pulled in here."

Norah shrunk back in the chair, starting to understand the dire situation she was in. The Edenian shrugged lightly and tossed them to the side before he regarded her with a smile.

"But we shall see where the conversation takes us," he quipped, almost as if to himself. It was alarming how his eyes darkened from the humored glint he had and turned stormy in mere seconds; his face also copying his stare.

"So tell me," he began, his tone so serious it made her hold her breath. "What was it that filthy Osh-Tekk usurper had to say at dinner tonight? Anything that pertains to Lord Rain or Tanya would be most helpful to know."

Norah stared at him fearfully, her chest falling and rising as she scratched at the wood of the arm with her fingernails nervously. Bao had warned her something like this that would happen. About how being a cup-bearer also carried the burden of overhearing any political or strategical operations between the Kahn and his guards. She just didn't think that she would have been tortured for such information so _quickly_ into her new occupation.

Her silence seemed to annoy the Edenian and he jumped up from the table with the same stern expression on his face. He closed the distance in a few quick strides, his gaze boring down at her like a demon's.

"You better tell me now," he demanded, looking as if he was losing all his patience already, "Or you will not have any teeth to eat with when I am done with you."

She honestly did consider telling him for a moment, however, the more she thought about it, the more she began to understand that this Edenian was obviously a supporter of the Ex-Kahnun and the rebels. Norah felt anger fill her at his words and she started to replace her fear with stubbornness. Truthfully, she never did enjoy Mileena as Kahnum, and although she had no desire for politics, approved of the new Emperor they had on the throne of Outworld now. Unlike Mileena, Kotal Kahn cared about the people and put their interests' firsts— Mileena certainly never did that. As she thought more about whether she wanted to betray the Emperor she preferred, she could hear Bao's words echo in her mind once again.

_Do not breathe one word of what they say. No matter what they threaten you with. No matter what they do to you. You choose **death** instead of revealing what they discuss._

Although she was still furious with Bao, she heeded the words he told her and looked at the Edenian with a determined expression.

She would not say a word.

He shook his head while a frown grew on his face. "How very disappointing."

Norah's head whipped to the side faster than she could register from the slap that came and she felt her cheek stinging horrendously from the force. It wasn't the first time she had ever been slapped by a man, but she had to admit, his palm sent more pain through her than anyone that came before him did.

He slapped her again, this time on the other side of her face and like before, her head flew to the side. The female Outworlder turned her gaze back to him, tiny needles of pain piercing the flesh of her cheek and shot him with a look of pure resentment.

The Edenian towered over her, "Tell me what Ko'atal's plans are and I will not have to strike you again."

She said nothing and he backhanded her across the face, enough to rattle her teeth. She cried out in pain this time and felt her already damaged jaw erupt in pain from it. Her head leaned back against the back of the chair as she looked at him, her mouth clamped in silence, but her eyes fuming with hatred.

"You will tell me eventually," he seethed darkly. "They all do."

"I will be happy to disappoint you," Norah spat, her jaw pulsing with pain when she talked. At this rate at least she wouldn't be able to talk even if she were willing to tell him anything or not.

Her words angered him and she saw his face twist in an ugly scowl as he laid a brutal punch to her exposed stomach. Norah howled in pain; the wind knocked out of her as her head snapped forward from the sheer intensity of the hit. As she felt the bruise form on her stomach, air filling her lungs with fire, she lifted her head up, moaning in pain. But if he thought this the first time that she had endured such punishment he was wrong and he could ask Rhen to confirm if he had his doubts.

"Are you quite sure you want me to continue?" he asked politely, although the sarcasm in his voice was obvious.

"Yes..." Norah breathed out sarcastically, a slight flicker of fear running through her. She honestly did not know this man's limits and she was afraid to push them. Nevertheless, if she was to die in this horrible little room with the horrible Edenian in front of her, she would not die a traitor.

He punched her across the face with enough force to knock the chair over and send her landing hard on her side. Norah grunted in pain when she landed on the cold stone floor and sent waves of pain in her side. It only distracted her momentarily from the terrible pain on the side of her face, as the baker heard his footsteps behind her. He picked up the chair, dragging her along with it to set it back on its legs. As soon as the feet of the chair hit the ground, he grabbed the back and pulled it along with him. The legs of the chair groaned loudly against the floor as she felt herself leaning into the back as he pulled it closer to the table.

Sitting back on the table with her in front he leaned forward and looked at her quizzically.

"I am interested to know why you are so loyal to Ko'atal," he asked softly before he jabbed her in the face. This time she tasted blood on her lips, and ran the small crack opening on her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue.

"He is not the true heir to the throne of Outworld," The Edenian told her, his voice growing deeper as he punched her again. She whimpered in pain, her skin burning.

"He stole the throne from Mileena like a rat steals food from a plate," another brutal punch to the stomach and Norah howled involuntarily.

"And you support his mutiny?!" Another slap, more pain and more blood on her lips.

"Of course you would— you Earthrealm bitch!" His eyes seethed with anger and another punch to face snapped her head to the side; her head bobbing as she felt her eye closing from the swelling.

He grabbed her by the hair and she looked at him tiredly, barely able to make out the scolding look he gave her as he used her hair to hold her head up. She winced as she felt her hair almost tearing from her scalp from his hand. She did nothing but shot him a disdainful look with the eye that was still open.

"Say something or you will regret what comes next!" he yelled, his voice heavy with exasperation.

Through the cloud of pain that blurred her vision, she managed to form a limp smile on her face.

"I am... an _Outworld_ bitch..."

He pulled on her hair harder and she yelped in pain, his hand ripping out hair in her scalp: "You are willing to die for that Osh-Tekk fool?! That traitor that sat in Mileena's court and has no right to sit on a throne that does not belong to him?!"

A grimace formed on her face from him yanking on her hair, but she managed to find her voice although each word produced embers of pain in her bruised torso. "At least he... cares about Outworld... and the people— Ah!"

He gripped the back of her neck uncomfortably, his nails digging into the skin at the back of her neck as he scoffed at her. "Do you really think he cares about you? You are nothing to him. You are a slave brainwashed by a false idol that spouts empty promises of a united Outworld. You will tell me eventually... they _all_ do."

Norah didn't reply. With his grip still on her neck, he pushed her roughly to the side and allowed her to fall on her bruised rib-cage with the chair coming with her.

He stepped over body to add insult and she heard him close a door that she was not aware of until now. The baker waited for several minutes and when she was sure that he was not returning anytime soon, she let out a sigh of relief. Even with the chair and her weight pinning her down and digging into her arm uncomfortably into the floor, she was glad he was at least gone and offered her something of a reprieve.

She let her forehead rest on the floor as she breathed with exhaustion, her face twisting and scrunching every so often from the agony that he had stamped on her face and stomach. She looked down towards the skin of her stomach and grimaced when she saw the red bruise that was already starting to darken.

Norah felt her arm starting to grow numb from where it was pinned to the floor and the chair, but managed to rock the chair back and forth until she was able to pull herself back up to her feet and set the legs of the chair down. Her head rolled back as she waited in solitude in the room for him to return.

An idea ballooned in her mind when she remembered the table that held the instruments that he hadn't used on her yet. Her eyes scanned over the menagerie of torture devices, passing by a pair of pliers no doubt for her fingernails, until her good eye landed on a small set of knives varying in size and dullness, as well as a dirty piece of cloth that she was not sure of what the purpose was.

She looked away from the table and tried not to think too much on when he was planning to use them on her. Instead, Norah looked to her other side and saw the door she hadn't seen before. It was a simple wooden door with a small viewing window with bars across it. She had heard him bolt it closed when he left. For a moment she thought she saw someone looking through it, but pushed it aside when she waited and didn't see anyone try and sneak a glance again. However, she had to be sure before she made her move.

She waited for an eternity it felt like with nothing but her thoughts and her bruises to keep her company, and reflected on her situation; both furious and despondent. Was it because she was a woman and they thought they could extract information quickly out of her? She felt somewhat insulted by the thought and scoffed silently. Why had Bao betrayed her like this? Was he a rebel working undercover? For some reason, the theory didn't seem right to her— why kidnap her if he could easily feed them information? In fact, the more she did think about why she was here the little did it make sense. Something did not seem right about this _interrogation_ despite how real it felt.

Norah looked at the table with her one good eye on a knife. Looking back at the door, she decided now was the time while she still had the opportunity. She scuttled over to the table by lifting the chair she was tied to and leaned it as close to the surface of the table as she could. The chair hindered her and she could barely feel the knife out of reach. She grunted, her abdomen flaring in protest from her movements as she reached as close as she could.

She felt her fingertips slice against the blade, but she ignored it and grabbed the knife and sat the chair down; letting out a woody groan in protest. Norah had the knife by the blade and managed to shift it until she had her hand on the handle. She sawed at the ropes as fast as she could with the little movement the ropes gave her— her eye still on the door and her ears perked for any noise— and went as hastily as she could.

Eventually, the ropes slackened and she was able to tug them free. Immediately she worked on the other side.

As soon as the final rope slackened, she shot up from the chair with the knife in her hand and ran towards the door— hearing footsteps approaching. The girl hurried over to the door and placed herself as flat against the wall as much as she possibly could. Just like she had hoped, the door swung open almost hitting her in the face, but concealed her from the Edenian that came back into the room carrying a bucket full of water and extra rope.

He stopped when he saw the empty chair and Norah took the only opportunity she had while he was distracted.

She ran for the exit, the knife in her hands, but he was devastatingly much faster.

She managed to make it outside the door when she felt him grab her hair from behind and pull back hard on it. Norah cried out in pain, her hand reaching back instinctively as she felt him drag her back inside. She could have sworn she saw someone outside the door, but her attention was elsewhere at the moment.

She swiped blindly for him with the knife, turning towards him, but he managed to catch her wrist. He twisted it; her other hand clawed at his hand still buried in her hair. The woman let out a groan of frustration when she had to release the knife when he reared her head back farther. Still holding her wrist tight in his hand he jerked at her hair once again, earning a cry of pain from her as she was forced to look up into his gloating expression.

"You think you are the only one to free themselves of the chair?" he questioned sarcastically.

"Maybe you should not keep the knives so close by," she shot back to him, although her voice couldn't hide the fear she felt engulfing her.

In a flash, he tripped her and had her face down on the ground with his knee digging painfully into her back and the hand still in her hair pushing her harder onto the floor. She grunted in pain as her face pressed into the dirty stone floor uncomfortably; tasting the grime on her bloody lips. Norah fought against him when she felt his hand leave her hair and start to grab for her arms to pull behind her back.

Norah groaned in anger when he managed to twist them painfully enough for her strength to falter and felt the rough fibers of the rope bite into her wrists again as he tied them together.

"It is always good to bring extra rope. Don't you agree?"

The baker gritted her teeth angrily at his remark until he felt her pull her roughly up to stand, his grip on her tied wrists.

He dragged her to the chair and with a forceful shove sat her down on the chair with her hands still tied around her back. She didn't bother getting up; there was no point when the both of them knew she wasn't getting out of the room without him stopping her. She breathed slowly, panic flooding her when she heard him pick up the bucket, carry it over to the table and set it down.

He regarded her with a dark frown of displeasure and reached for the dirty cloth that sat on the table. She looked at him warily, unsure what he was thinking as he ran his fingers over the fabric— taunting her almost.

"I will give you three more opportunities to tell me what it is you know," he informed with an annoyed tone. "If you still refuse to tell me what it is you heard... well, I think you know."

Norah flashed him a look of complete hatred; yes she knew.

He reached for her, grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her to the ground hard, so she was on her back. She groaned in pain, her wrists prodding into the arch of her back uncomfortably. Before she could sit up, he had the bucket of water in his hand and the dirty cloth in the other and straddled her stomach. She twisted underneath him, trying to use her legs to throw him off her, but his weight held her down.

"I hear this is something they do in Earthrealm quite often and that it is very painful," he told her nonchalantly, she seethed in anger at him; her teeth bared.

Her vision darkened and she felt the cloth placed over her face. It smelled awful, like body odor and she twisted underneath the stench and his hand pressed into her face.

Norah screamed in protest and could barely make out her Edenian torturer through the fabric and saw his silhouette start to tip the bucket towards her face. She choked on her scream when she felt the water start to bleed through the fabric and enter her mouth.

Her reaction was instantaneous and she felt herself begin to gag on the water. It spewed out of her mouth painfully, hit the fabric like a barrier, and pushed the water back into her mouth. Norah thrashed underneath him, her wrists burning from the ropes as she pulled against the restraints and dug her heels into the stone. She would have screamed if the water weren't drowning out any sound except the gurgling coming from her. Her throat and chest burned as the water continued to flow forcefully into her mouth and fill her sinuses. Norah's face grimaced in excruciating pain as she tried to search for air that was blocked by the water and cloth.

After what seemed like hours Norah heard the empty bucket drop to the side and he removed the cloth from her face and allowed her to breath.

Water spewed from her mouth, coating her chest and face as she spat as much as she could out of her mouth as she could muster. Much to her surprise he lifted slightly off her stomach and tilted her head with his hand to the side, allowing her to cough out the rest onto the floor as she rolled onto her side.

As she gasped for air, the water rolling off her face and onto the floor, she felt tears leave her face despite one was swollen and shut. She whimpered pathetically, sobbing out of fear slightly as she still felt him straddling her side.

"Like drowning on land isn't it?" she heard him remark above her.

She wanted nothing more than to hit him, to punch him across the jaw repeatedly like he had done, but she didn't have the energy or strength. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that he looked towards the door briefly before he sighed slightly and turned back to her. He looked down at her coldly before she felt him lift of her and walk over to place the empty bucket on the table.

Norah remained on her spot on the floor and waited.

_No matter what they do to you. You choose death instead of revealing what they discuss._

She sucked in her breath and looked towards the Edenian that was looking over what he had on the table. He didn't seem impressed with what was on the table and looked back at her and flashed a grin as he scratched his nose.

"Two opportunities left," he reminded her despairingly. "Are you sure you do not want to tell me?"

Norah breathed heavily and shook her head. The Edenian clicked his tongue at her; disappointed by her answer.

"I hear a broken nose is also quite painful," he told her plainly. He picked her up from the floor by her wrists and carried her over to the chair.

Norah looked at him, her head bouncing until it rolled forward, her chin on her chest. Almost with a dark sense of humor, he calmly placed his hands against the sides of her head, lifted it up and tapped his finger against the top of her nose like he do to a child. He smiled when her head stayed level and nodded in satisfaction as he took a couple of steps back before swinging a right hook at her face.

She heard the snap of her bones breaking before her vision turned white and flashed black. The next thing she could see were multi-colored dots dancing across her vision and her face set on fire from the horrendous pain she felt across her face. Norah thought this was worse than the water torture he had done before mainly because the pain was unrelenting and swarmed her vision; making it nearly impossible to gain focus. She felt something warm against her mouth and when she spat for air, she realized it was her blood she was feeling.

Finally, her vision cleared and she heard herself whimpering from the pain. As she finally managed to open her good eye, she saw him standing above her and it was then she realized she was on the floor with the chair on its side as well. Once again he looked in the direction of the door, let out a sigh and shook his head at her.

"Such a shame," he tsked with a click of his tongue. "You did have such a lovely nose. Are you ready to tell me what Ko'atal is planning?"

Norah spat out more of the blood that ran from her nose and bowled into her mouth. She honestly didn't hear a word he said and continued to sob in pain on the ground pathetically. Even if she did, she still wouldn't tell him a word. Bao's words ran through her mind continuously like a mantra and she held on to them like a dying man would to last seconds of life.

_No matter what they threaten you with. No matter what they do to you. You choose death instead of revealing what they discuss._

Lying on her side she saw him look towards the door and a strange expression crossed his face. His face softened, almost in a professional manner and he nodded at something before he looked at her, sighed and stepped over her.

She heard him leave and she was glad although she knew he would be back. The baker swallowed nervously; she had no idea what the last opportunity was, but she was not going to give into it. Norah still held on to the theory that there was still something very strange about this interrogation and she saw it in the looks that would creep over his face when she thought he wasn't looking.

Her head snapped up when the door opened and she saw him walking in with a cold branding iron; answering her question about what the last opportunity was.

Norah sulked on the floor as he closed the door and walked the branding iron towards the fireplace, placing the brand's end into the coals. She honestly couldn't imagine how much pain it would bring and she shivered when she realized she was about to find out soon enough.

The Edenian looked at her with a grim and stern expression as he walked over to her and picked her up by the wrists. He all but held her up and he used his other hand to grab her around her bruised waist and lifted her until she stood in front of the table. She wobbled where she stood, overcome with pain to stand up straight and watched as he grabbed a knife and sliced the ropes she had around her wrists free.

"One last opportunity," he said in a hushed whisper, she flinched when she felt his breath at her ear from behind. "Tell me... and you will not have to endure what is next."

His words were distorted and she could barely make them out through the fog that encompassed her. He came around her and walked towards the fireplace and lifted the brand out of the fire. She saw the tiny red mark blazed brightly with red and she swallowed nervously, almost feeling the smoldering heat from it where she stood. The brand was a simple, barely the size of a coin, with a half cut circle with a small prong that ran horizontally from one of the edges; almost like a handle of a cup.

"Are you sure you are ready to die for your Emperor?" he asked her gravely, his tone stern.

_...You choose **death** instead of revealing what they discuss._

_...You choose **death**..._

_...choose **death**..._

She found her voice through the veil of overwhelming pain and she felt perversely pleased with her answer. If this wasn't a test, she would die at least with dignity and if this was indeed as strange as she thought it was, she would at least call him out on his bluff. Either way, she was content with what she told him.

"I... I choose... death..."

Norah could have sworn she saw him smile and not at the thought of causing her pain but almost as if he was very pleased with her answer; that she had said exactly the right thing. He still came towards her with the brand in his hand however and pushed her to the ground with his free hand.

She stumbled down, hardly with any strength left in her and felt him roll her over onto her stomach with his foot. She stayed on her position on the ground and felt him grab her left hand and place her palm on the ground before she felt his foot hold the same hand down to the stone floor. His other foot pressed her forearm flat as well, her arm completely at his mercy. She looked at him and waited for what they both knew what he would do next; although she didn't expect the words she heard come genuinely from his mouth for her.

"My dear, you said just what I wanted to hear. Sorry about this. It will sting I'm afraid..."

Norah shrieked in agonizing pain when he brought the brand down on the flesh on the top of her wrist. She could feel the heat melt and bubble of the skin and felt it sink past the layers of her flesh as he kept her hand pinned down with his foot. She let out another chocked scream, tears falling down her face, when she felt the brand lift off and saw the steam swirl around her wrist from the brand. He released her, took a step back and let her pull her trembling and burning hand against her chest, waiting for the blistering agony she felt on her wrist to subside.

Her hand vibrated as if it had just been attacked by volts of lightning and she felt her screams taper off into pained whimpers as she writhed on the floor on her back. Her entire body engulfed in pain but the most horrible of it in her wrist that felt as if it was melting off the bone. Fresh tears pricked her eyes and she rolled on her side to sob into the floor with a mixture of pain, frustration and fear— mostly out of pain.

Norah felt him pick her up from the floor gently under her arms and she allowed him to despite the tremendous amount of fear and anger she felt towards him. The battered woman looked at him, and for the first time since waking up, looked at him with utter confusion.

He looked at her with absolute regret and smiled sheepishly at her. "I am truly sorry about all this unpleasantness."

The guilty look and the sincere way he had apologized completely befuddled her and she wondered if she had missed something.

The door opened and she finally got to see who it was that was on the other side this entire time.

For the first time since they met, Matlal looked at her without disappointment or malice and stared at her as if he had been pleasantly surprised to see her standing there. Norah was about to ask him if he was there to kill her when her eye landed on the scar he had on one of his wrists.

It was the mark she had branded on her.

She also noticed that he was also missing the smallest of his fingers on the same hand that had the brand on... much like Bao.

"Congratulations," Matlal relayed with a nod, like his appearance his voice was the same as the Emperor's, "You may live to see another sunrise."

Realization hit her the moment he had told her those words and after she glanced once again at the brand on his wrist. It all crashed upon her like a wave at a shore and she felt slight elation when she realized that this had all been a test. Bao leading her to a trap, Matlal standing outside the door and even the torturer himself who looked like the enemy... all a test.

A test to see if she would reveal to anyone under the same circumstances the conversations between the Kahn and his guards.

And she had passed...

"I am sorry about this my dear, but it must be done," the Edenian next to her said before he suddenly grasped her broken nose. Her eyes twisted in pain as she felt the bones in her nose grind themselves back into place by his fingers. She heard them crack as she groaned into his hand. She felt a fresh trail of blood run out of her nose when he did and her nose throb painfully as he finished setting in back into place. Another wave of pain flared and she felt herself grow woozy from it; shifting tiredly where she stood.

"Are you fit to walk to your room?" Matlal asked her, his voice carrying slight concern as he looked at her battered appearance with a grimace.

"I...think so..." Norah could barely answer him and when she moved to walk she almost fell to the ground, the Edenian next to her catching her and holding her up. Norah saw him nod in understanding and frown humorously at her stubborn pride.

He came towards her and before she could protest that she could walk, he scooped her up by sweeping his arm under the crook of her legs and picking her up. Her left arm, still burning from the mark, stayed pinned to her chest as her right arm draped across the back of his neck naturally as he used his other hand to support her back.

The baker caught the Edenian lifting the still smoldering brand to near his face, looking at the muddled end now crusted over with the remains of her charred skin pulled from her wrist, and gave a sideways grin before he turned his back to them.

"A pleasure, my dear," was all he said, almost as if he didn't regard them to even be present in the room, and turned back to the fire to set the poker inside the flames.

Her head rolled onto Matlal's chest at it's own accord and she closed her eyes, letting him carry her back to her room with her head swamped with dizziness.

He walked with her in silence for a moment until she heard him say something and she looked tiredly up at him, "W-What...?"

Matlal gave a breathy huff, as if humored that her lack of consciousness caused her to mishear him, "I was saying that Mr. Black will be most displeased to see you at dinner tomorrow. I do not think he enjoys your company. How disappointed you will make him."

At the mention of Erron Black's name Norah's fuzzy mind flashed back to what he had told her at dinner; the strange comments he had said before he left. That was what he had been referring to; he had expected her to fail.

Despite how much her face hurt, she pulled it up into a victorious smile at Matlal's words. Erron Black would be in for shock. For the first time since she had met the former Earthrealmer that regarded her as nothing more than dirt under his shoe, she was looking forward to seeing him...

"I must also express my apologies to you," Matlal said, pulling her from her thoughts. "I thought you incapable. You have my respect."

Norah felt herself swell with pride at his words.

"Although..." Matlal gave her a pointed look, almost as if he was somewhat displeased, "I am surprised Hulin chose to break your nose instead of removing a finger."

Norah furrowed her eyebrows as much as she could, also surprised now that she considered what he was saying.

Matlal shook his head, "Do not ponder too much on it. You have earned your mark regardless."

She nodded her head, "Thank you..."

He nodded his head back to her and led her down the corridors towards the kitchen staffs rooms. They didn't pass anyone on the way to the room and she was glad. Norah felt somewhat embarrassed being carried to her room in such a way, but she was thankful for the small lift nonetheless; she doubted she would have made it back to her room without assistance.

As they turned the corner to the hall where her room was, a door swung open and Bao come rushing out when he heard Matlal's footsteps. Norah glared at him, still furious with him even though she understood now that he was just doing his job. She noticed he breathed the biggest sigh of relief he had in him when he saw her.

"Thank the Elder Gods," he praised as he came towards them, but grimaced when he saw her broken nose and swollen face.

"Norah, I am so sorry about what I did. It is something that all of us must pass," Bao babbled, he suddenly grasped at the leather cuff he wore constantly and presented his mark. "See? Matlal and I also had to receive marks. It is to show the Kahn you are capable of holding your silence."

Norah and Matlal gave each other a look and she saw him roll his eyes at Bao's attempt to sway Norah over with his blubbering apology. The baker laughed inwardly at his look and nodded at him to put her down. The Kahn's doppelganger lowered her gently as Bao continued to go on and on without realizing that they were not listening.

Norah held up her uninjured hand. "Bao... I understand. Stop apologizing... _please_."

He immediately shut his mouth and nodded, still looking as if he felt tremendously guilty for his part in everything. Matlal nodded his goodbye and turned to leave to his room as Bao helped her into her's.

Carver and Bert, being woken up by Bao's stammering, accompanied the Outworlders in Norah's room to see how she was, and both grimaced at her beaten appearance. They left mutely from her doorway before they came back with water, a cup, a bowl of herbs and clean rags.

Bao helped her onto her cot and she grunted in pain when she felt her stomach flare from the large purple bruise that colored her skin with an ugly hue.

"You're one tough kid," she heard Bert tell her as he wet the cloth and handed it over to her. She took it from him with an appreciative nod and placed the lukewarm cloth to her face, shrinking at the touch to her swollen eye before moving it to wipe the dried blood from her nose and chest.

"You know, I just had to wear a suit to my job interview..." Carver joked, frowning as he looked at her. "I'm glad they are not going to chop your head off, though."

She looked at Bao for an explanation and he answered, "Anyone that does not pass _The Marking_ is executed. They cannot be trusted if they reveal what is said."

Norah nodded slightly, her entire face still throbbing with pain. She saw Bao start to mix the herbs in the water while Bert took care of wetting his set of herbs and placing them between the two wet cloths.

Bao handed her the cup. "For the pain," he told her.

She wrapped her fingers around it as he assisted and he held it up for her, helping her to tip it into her throat. She gulped the water and herbs down and she breathed out a pained sigh. Norah saw Bert reach for her marked hand and she hesitantly let him take. He cleaned up the blood as gently as he could on her wrist and she saw the guilty look on his face when she couldn't help but hiss in pain when brushed a spot too tender.

"I'll take care of the bread tomorrow— I'll even make the loaves for the little itty bitty psychopath so you can rest easy until you got to do your cup-bearer thingy," Carver told her with a smile.

Norah smiled at him, incredibly thankful for his gesture until she hissed in pain again from Bert's ministrations; luckily he was done. "Also for the pain," Bert said to her as he picked up the cloth full of herbs. She nodded, bracing herself. The baker whimpered lightly when and she bit into her hand to muffle it as Bert laid the cloth on the top of her wrist.

"I'm sorry kid," Bert told her quietly, "But it will help to avoid an infection."

She inhaled a shaky breath, her pain already subsiding slightly as the herbs worked their way into her system.

The baker saw Carver flash her a smile and said: "When you see Black tomorrow, rub that mark in his smug fucking cowboy face."

Norah smiled at him as they helped her to the cot, the cloth still on her wrist and watched them leave shortly after that, letting her get her much needed and deserved rest.

* * *

Norah wasn't certain how long she had been asleep but when she woke up, she didn't recall feeling as stiff or sore when she first drifted off to sleep.

Despite her whole body felt as if it had been trampled by a crowd and she groaned softly in pain when she willed her body to move to sit up. Her face felt both incredibly numb and overwhelmed with pain at the same time and she grimaced when she tried to move her jaw. She barely made it halfway up before she opted for rolling onto her side and let her pain throb all over her body as she tried to get as comfortable as she possibly could.

No matter how horrendously sore she felt, she was very pleased that she had survived the torture without saying a single word. Although the more she considered it, the less pleased she felt with herself when she realized how easily she had accepted her death and the thought almost depressed her at the same time. In the back of her mind, however, she knew she didn't keep her silence for the sake of the Emperor. Instead, it was from her stubbornness and self-loathing she felt that no one would miss her.

She pushed the dour thoughts away when she saw the cloth that was resting on her branded wrist and how it was not true.

Bert, Carver and even Bao... they cared for her. She saw it last night. They thought of her as one of them despite that she was not an Earthrealmer. Why did they care so much? She certainly didn't feel as if she deserved any of their friendship.

For once she felt warmth that she might have people to call friends and could find herself relying on.

She did not feel alone.

Norah grimaced and reached for the cloth that sat dried on her wrist and pulled it off slowly. She hissed as she pulled the cloth up, the fabric sticking and pulling at her skin that was glued to her flesh by the caked blood. Finally, she lifted it and grimaced when she saw the nasty red brand on her wrist covered in blood and looked as if it was already starting to heal. It was disgusting to stare at, but she couldn't pull her eyes away from it as she felt it pulse painfully as if it had a heartbeat of its own.

It would scar like on Matlal and Bao's wrists eventually and she frowned at the thought of bearing this mark for the rest of her life. Still... it was much better fate than an execution.

Norah's eyes landed on her table and in the darkness she saw a small bundle of clothing sitting there waiting for her. After debating for a while of whether she wanted to get up or not she managed to pull herself to her feet and limp slowly to open her door to let light in and walked over to the table.

She frowned at the new set of purple clothing that sat on the table for her. However, what she hated the most was the note and the gold cuff that had almost got her a trip to the beheading block, sitting on top of the clothing.

Norah knew who the note was from but picked it up and read what Tama had written for her.

_**A gift for all the trouble you endured and something to cover the brand.** _

_**-Tama** _

Norah crumbled the note angrily in her uninjured hand, and without thinking, swiped the gold cuff off the pile of clothes with a furious flick of her wrist and listened to it clatter into the hallway.

"Aaahh!"

Her face immediately twisted into pain and she grabbed her forearm; pain barreling up her arm from branded wrist that she accidently used to knock the gold cuff off.

After the pain had dissipated, tears at the brim of her eyes from her stupidity, Norah closed the door to her room after lighting the candle for her room and left her employer's gift untouched in the hallway.

* * *

Erron was pleased to admit that he was looking forward to dinner and allowed himself a grin as he approached closer to the Kahn's dining hall.

That girl had been nothing but a pain in the ass since he had met her and he reveled in the fact that he was finally, and indeed, rid of her by now. He knew of the evaluation that the cup-bearers undertook after their first day. Besides the kid and the double that served for the Kahn, Ferra and him usually had someone new every night since the old man had died.

He allowed himself a smile as he opened the door to the dining room and felt it immediately vanish from his face at who he saw who was behind Ferra and his chair.

The minute he walked in and her me bruised and swollen face looked in his direction, he had a hard time not pulling the gun from his holster out of reflex at the ardent smug smile she shot at him. He glowered back at her felt his hand clench in anger as she continued to look in his way with the unrelenting self-satisfaction.

He felt Ermac and Reptile staring at him with perplexity, and he willed himself to walk over to his side of the dinner table. The gunslinger felt his nails digging into the flesh of his palms, and the closer he got, the more her smiled widened at his displeasure.

As Erron rounded the table, approaching his chair, she had the nerve to tilt her wrist slightly towards him and show him the red branded mark on her wrist; a single green eye drinking in his enraged look with pleasure. 

_So you wanna get shot? Is that it?_

He considered it, he truly did, until the Kotal Kahn walked in and he had to turn away from her and take his seat. He noticed the Kahn looked at her momentarily, turned to his double who nodded his head in approval in regards to her, and watched as Kotal nodded his own head; satisfied with her passing the initiation.

Erron's lip curled up slightly and he fumed where he sat as the others dug into their meals. He didn't touch his food, nor did he move his goblet for her to serve him water. Black barely heard anything that was said between the Kahn and the others as he boiled angrily in his seat and refused to touch his plate; he had lost any appetite he once had walking to the room. He had been looking forward to finally getting rid of her off his back. But she was as persistent as a horse fly that refused to die no matter how much he swatted at it; she kept coming back and biting him relentlessly.

His shoulders rose up and down as he breathed angrily through his nose, when he could still feel her triumphant look at the back of his head. She loved that he had been wrong and the more the meal carried on, the more heated he felt.

His fists clenched angrily at both sides of his plate, his jaw starting to hurt from how hard he grounded his teeth together. The light-hearted conversation that the others were engaged in didn't help either and he felt a flare of anger at the laughter that would drift over the room that added insult to injury.

Black noticed that Ferra waved her cup at her and he turned his irate look in their direction. She poured the water in Ferra's goblet, saw he was looking at her, and flashed a pompous smile his direction.

Hot air blew out of his nose indignantly as he scowled and looked away. There were so many venomous words that came to mind, but the Kahn's presence anchored them inside, and with no outlet, felt his blood boil.

After what seemed to take hours, the Kahn finally left, and as soon as the door closed, Erron jumped up from his chair; knocking it backward in a fit of anger, stormed out, and slammed the door behind him.

He walked down the corridor with quick and irate strides until he found the training area he was looking for— desperately and suddenly feeling the need to shoot something.

Although no matter how many bullets he wasted, he never felt his hatred leave him.

* * *

After Bao had shown her what was needed in regards to feeding Torr— which included going to the slaves dining hall for leftover food that had been discarded and putting it through a slot in a door that led to the outside— she and Bao walked back to their rooms with their meals for the evening; Bao carrying the pot of stew and Norah carrying the bowls with her good hand.

As they walked across the palace with their carry, they could hear the sound of Black firing off his gun somewhere in the distance. Each time she heard the gunfire her smile widened; every shot was a confirmation that she had finally got the best of him.

Bao gave her a worried frown at her pleased demeanor and he flashed her pointed look: "I hope you enjoyed giving Erron Black grief tonight because after what I saw I guarantee he will start making your life a living hell. I warned you about antagonizing Black."

Norah scoffed slightly at Bao's words, her stubborn pleasure faltering slightly, "He has already made my life a living hell. I doubt he can do much worse."

Bao stopped and waited for her to acknowledge him, which she did with an annoyed frown. "Are you sure you want to find out?"

More gunfire echoed throughout the palace and Norah sighed at his words.

Perhaps she had gotten a little too carried away with her small victory. Still, it didn't take away any truth from what she had told Bao; he had made her life a living hell since she had met him and deserved it. Bao resumed walking with her and Norah thought more deeply about having Erron Black as her enemy as she heard the sound of the gunshots dwindle off the closer they got to the kitchen.

Perhaps she could tread more carefully from now on since they did have to see each other regularly. She groaned inwardly at the fact that she would have to proceed with more caution around him. She wanted nothing else than to see how dissatisfied she had made him over and over each night at dinner.

However, it was still Erron Black and she knew he had certain boundaries she did not want to cross. He could still kill her if he wanted and after tonight she knew she was getting close to crossing the line; she had never seen him that angry with her before.

Didn't mean she still didn't need to repress the feeling of the complete and utter satisfaction she felt tonight when she finally realized she had finally won once against the mercenary she hated.

After she had eaten, she went to bed with a smile on her bruised face.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9  
Terms and Conditions May Apply**

* * *

It had been a week since her wrist had been branded, and Norah was glad that she was towards the end of her healing because the pain, though had subsided day by day, had been constantly unbearable. Also, despite she was pleased by how Erron Black severely disliked seeing her survive _The Marking_ , she noticed that things between them might not remain in her benefit.

After that day, he never said a word to her, looked her direction and certainly never moved his goblet for her. Even though she was somewhat glad he never did, Bao had constantly reminded her about the aggravated and distempered scowl he had ever present on his face as he ate. Norah pretended not to care about the faces he made at dinner, but deep in the back of her mind she knew it was something to worry about.

Erron Black didn't want her in the palace just as much as Norah, and she also didn't want to push her luck in seeing what he would do to remove her if he got the nerve to. Though she hated him, she still understood he was a deadly adversary; he wasn't a Kahn's guard for no good reason.

She tried to stray her thoughts elsewhere as she worked to remove the blood stains from the blouse she wore during her interrogation. However, with one hand scabbed over and providing little movement without tearing, it was taking her longer than expected; her work with the bread also suffered due to the little she could knead with one hand.

Norah, still in her baking attire and without her headscarf (it was a hot day and she did not feel like wearing it) currently devoted her time to clean up her uniform in the laundry area by the gardens. There were two other female servants that were tending to their work and didn't bother her just as she did not bother them.

The baker lifted the blouse from the water and frowned when her efforts weren't working as well as she thought they were.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of something splashing forcefully in the water and when she looked up, she noticed that the servants were rushing out and leaving their work unintended. Her eyebrows bridged as she watched them close the door and before she got the chance to turn around to see what it was that had obviously frightened them, she felt something cold placed against her throat.

Thinking it was something malicious, she reached under and pushed the hands of her attacker away from her throat while she scrambled to her feet. Her hands stayed out in front and she swore silently when she saw the scabbed mark on her wrist had slightly ripped open and felt small a patch of blood start to pour down her arm. Norah glared defensively at him despite the thing she thought was a malicious weapon was a teal necklace in his hands— her teal necklace.

The Edenian, who Matlal had mentioned was named Hulin, wore a grin on his face; almost as if he was surprised she had acted in such a way but didn't seem offended that she had done so. He was dressed the same, but his demeanor was friendlier and less intimidating. However, that didn't mean she forgot about the beating at his hand; she still had remnants of that day on her face and wrist.

"I apologize for startling you— it was not my intention," he said as he held up the necklace in his outstretched hand. "I was just trying to return the necklace that was left behind during our... conversation."

Norah eyed him suspiciously and then the necklace he held out for her to take. If he was trying not to startle her, there were certainly better ways not do so. He cleared his throat slightly and lifted the necklace a little more towards her as if he was giving her a peace offering.

She raised an eyebrow at him; recalling something he had said during their, conversation: "I thought my necklace was for your wife?"

He laughed at her question and shook his head, "I do not have a wife. I just did not want to damage your pretty necklace. It is alright. I will not harm you—you have already passed your test."

Norah sighed indignantly and with hesitant steps she came towards him and noticed he smiled in approval. As her hand went to take the necklace from him, his hand clamped gently on her unbranded wrist; enough to catch her attention and look at him.

He gave her a crooked grin as his eyes lit humorously at her, "Unless... _you_ are offering," Hulin told her, his tone flirtatious.

Norah couldn't tell if he was simply trying to unnerve her or if he was serious and flashed him a bug-eyed look at his words.

"I was only teasing, my dear, " he said with a grin before he shrugged, "Can I at least know your name?"

She frowned, "Norah."

With a slight jerk, she pulled her hand and necklace from his grasp. A small twinge of discomfort filled her and she wished that she had refrained from telling him her name.

"Norah?" He tested the word like it was some strange dialect he was learning and raised a quizzical eyebrow at her: "Are you sure you are not from Earthrealm?"

The baker sighed with exasperation; she was getting tired of trying to convince others she was from Outworld. "Yes. I am quite sure."

Hulin raised an eyebrow at her, "I did not frighten you, did I?"

"You merely surprised me," Norah bit back; suddenly feeling rather annoyed with him.

Hulin smiled, amused by her obvious discomfort. "Well, I still wouldn't blame you for being somewhat apprehensive towards me — I have that effect I hear. Cannot imagine why."

Norah sucked her teeth at his egotistical but playful tone and before she could comment negatively about it, he took a step forward.

"I am pleased to see you healing well, my dear," Hulin said, his eyes darted to the necklace and he gave a toothy grin. "There are not many female cup-bearers that have made it through my evaluation."

"I am sure there are not many male cup-bearers that do either," she quipped back, a small tone of bitterness in her voice.

Hulin laughed softly at her. "Very true, although I have to admit that my sessions usually are more... _detailed_... than the one you had with me. Nevertheless, I thought you conducted yourself rather well."

Norah flashed him a cross expression, "Is there a purpose to this conversation?"

He remained placid despite her exasperated tone, "No. I was here to return your necklace. I shall leave you before I offend you any further."

Hulin turned away from her; the sardonic grin still present on his face as he walked away; however he still had parting words. "It was still a pleasure to interrogate you. Have a pleasant rest of your day, my dear. By the way, your wrist is bleeding."

He left after that and Norah let out a sigh of relief; more than glad he was gone and that no one was around to see her encounter with him. Norah looked down at the scabbed wrist and frowned when she saw the small, slender path of blood that had trailed down her forearm.

"Christ on a tortilla, that guy is greasy," she heard Carver's voice call out and Norah sighed when he came through the doorway.

"You heard us talking?" Norah asked with a sigh as she wiped the trail of blood from her arm.

"Unfortunately," Carver said before an angry grimace ran over his face, "Am I high on glue or did I hear him ask you to marry him?"

Norah frowned and, unfortunately, gave Carver the answer at the same time. The Earthrealmer's face pulled into a disgusted look before he rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Why you are here, Carver?" Norah suddenly questioned, wanting to change the subject to anything else.

"Huh? Oh, Greasy was looking for you, and I thought I stand by to make sure he didn't do anything weird," Carver said with a shrug.

"You have failed miserably if that was your intention," Norah told him with a pointed look and Carver laughed sheepishly.

"No, but seriously," Carver continued before he jerked a thumb in the direction of the kitchen. "The Wicked Witch of the West is looking for you. She has a contract for you to sign."

Norah sighed indignantly, wishing he had been truthful about his first intentions for standing outside the door. With a grimace, she grabbed her wet blouse, twisted the water from it and hung it to dry before she walked in the direction of the kitchen with Carver following her.

"Make sure you read the _entire_ thing before signing," Carver warned her. "Knowing Tama she probably has a clause in there somewhere to fuck you over and she doesn't exactly hand out copies to keep."

Norah nodded her head; knowing Tama, Carver was probably right. She had dreaded this for a long time now and she was not looking forward to it when the day finally came. She had not signed Tama's legal contract that officially debt-bonded her to and she was somewhat relaxed with the prospect of still having some semblance of freedom these past couple of months.

Now, it would be official after today; she would be bonded to Tama until she saw fit to free her. After everything that woman had done, she would of much rather still been under Erron Black's employment.

Norah flashed Tama a mistrustful look when she saw her leaning outside the door of the kitchen with a small parchment rolled in her hands. The older woman simply nodded at her, gave her that aggravating false, friendly maternal smile, and walked inside the door— expecting Norah to follow her while Carver gave her a hesitant look.

"If she asks for your first born child to sacrifice to Satan, tell her no," Carver jested. Norah rolled her eyes and followed Tama into the kitchen and saw her waiting by the preparation table to catch up.

"Your contract is ready to sign," Tama informed her plainly, "If you would follow me, please."

Her employer turned away from her and led her from the kitchen and towards the direction of her room with Norah following reluctantly behind. As she continued to follow Tama through the corridors, Norah regretted not being able to come up with a single excuse that would buy her some time to avoid signing over the contract. She knew that Tama always had something up her sleeve, and the baker was not looking forward to being on the losing end that seemed to be customary between her and Tama. She always found a way to win.

Tama opened the door to her room and let Norah walk inside first before she shut the door behind them.

Unlike Norah's room, Tama's was decorated and furnished much finer than her stuffy little broom closet and also unlike her room, had a window. The afternoon light brightened the room and casted Tama's room in a relaxing glow that Norah would have felt comfortable in if the room didn't house a snake as its occupant. Tama had a bed with dark red sheets and pillows but out of everything it was the simplest thing in the room.

She had several knick-knacks on her desk and vases that looked older than Norah was, and she found herself lost in intricate and delicate designs of the vases that sat nearby the fireplace. The knick-knacks looked like something she had collected for a while, and she noticed the main theme of them looked like they were from Earthrealm.

She saw a necklace that had a gold chain and single pearl. A simple gold ring that looked like it fit on a man's finger. A gold locket. A dirty orange handkerchief and a small wooden box that looked the most out of place.

She noticed Tama staring at her intently, and she fixed away from the collection on her desk as the older Outworlder took her seat. Norah stood in front of the desk and noted several documents on the desk but couldn't make out what was written on them before Tama caught her attention.

Tama unrolled the parchment that was thick and handed it over to Norah to read.

"This contract has been written with your cup-bearer services added to the agreement," Tama began. "You will notice in the second paragraph that as long as you continue to serve both occupations as the baker and cup-bearer, your time will remain reduced. However, if you choose to lose either job, your time is subject to change. I have estimated your time here to last about 20 Earthrealm years instead of 40. I have based this upon the special circumstance that while you are born in Outworld, you still age like an Earthrealmer and have reduced the time quite severely."

_"How considerate of you..."_ Norah thought bitterly.

"The contract also states your limits in regards to what you are privy to in keeping your job," Tama said sternly, "You are debt-bounded and until you either work of your debt or a third party agrees to pay for your remaining debt. You are to complete all duties assigned and the terms set. You are to show up for each assigned duty prepared to accomplish any task. If under the circumstance you find yourself pregnant, you will make up the time lost after you are fit to return to duty. Let us hope you are smarter than Méh-è in regards to the latter."

Norah flashed a dour and sarcastic smile before she read over the contract; so far everything that Tama had said read true on the paper, but frowned when she read over the punishment clause in the contract.

**...If the indebted chooses to object to all assigned duties and/or leaves without permission from the contract holder to do so, indebted is no longer seen fit to uphold the terms and conditions of the contract and shall be executed and/or punished in a manner seen fit by the contract holder.**

Flee and die; that was all Norah could see hiding under the mess of words and she read it loud and clear. There was also a small part about marriage in the contract that Tama had chosen not to bring up like the punishment clause and Norah glossed over that section.

**If indebted is engaged to wed during their time of service...indebted's husband or wife may choose to buy contract...**

Norah didn't see that happening any time soon and looked over the rest of the document, making sure she memorized every scribbled word. There wasn't much to the document, and it seemed very straight-forward, however, knowing Tama, she did not see it as innocent as the older woman would have hoped.

Tama cracked a smile when Norah brought the document near the window and let the rays of the sun bleed through the paper as if she was looking for hidden messages that would be unveiled by the action.

"Are you ready to sign your agreement?" Tama asked. The baker looked away from the window, gave the parchment one last look in the sunlight and sighed. Norah walked over to her desk and placed it flat on the table while Tama dipped a quill-pen in a cup of ink and handed it to Norah.

The baker held the feather pen with trepidation as she looked at the blank line on the page like it was a giant centipede in front of her. Norah looked over at Tama, who was waiting impatiently to sign and narrowed her eyes at her when she realized Tama seemed a little too eager. The smile she had on her face was unnerving even though she tried to hide it under her calm demeanor. Norah could see it all in her eyes as she looked at her like a snake that had prey stumble across its path. Something was not right about this...

"I honestly do not see why I need to sign a contract," Norah stated her, letting the quill pen fall slightly to her side as determination replaced hesitance. "Is my word and the threat of death over my head, not enough to convince you that I will work off the debt?"

Tama smiled cynically at her, "The contract is here to guarantee legally to anyone that has their doubts that you are under my employment. We can agree to the terms verbally but if someone was to argue that you are here illegally then I have no proof to say that you are not. You would be executed the very next day. Sign the contract."

Norah glared at her; she knew what she was saying— sign it, or I will find a way to execute you. There was always a dark, hidden undertone to Tama's words and she was beginning to notice them more and more. Norah, unfortunately, knew that she was very good at covering every corner and providing no escape. She must have been manipulating people for decades.

Bitterly and regrettably, Norah signed the contract; the pen pressed so deeply in the parchment she started to bend the quill's tip and all but threw the pen on Tama's desk.

"It must be very tiring for you to constantly get what you want," Norah spat, her words soaked in resentment.

Tama returned an arrogant smile, "Not as tiring as you may think," her eyes darkened, and Norah wanted nothing more than to rip apart the paper, leap across the table and force-feed Tama the contract.

But instead she exhaled angrily out of her nose as she watched the ink start to slowly dry on the parchment. Norah felt a heavy frown creep onto her face and felt repulsed with herself despite how unavoidable she knew this moment was. In the back of her mind, she knew that Tama would have forced her to sign the contract in some manipulative manner. Despite how simple the contract appeared, Norah wasn't certain that was all that there was to it.

Tama took the contract from her and waved hand absently towards the door, excusing her. The baker didn't say anything and instead exited out the door with a heavy feeling that she was going to regret not finding out what her scheme was.

Unbeknownst to her, Norah was correct to have her suspicions, because as soon as the door closed, Tama brought out another document. It was almost identical to the contract that Norah had just signed with a few added clauses and the paper was so thin that it was brittle— almost transparent.

Tama carefully laid both parchments over each other, Norah's freshly signed document on the bottom and smiled when she took a small blunt end of a stick and began to poke delicately at Norah's signature. Little by little, Tama watched as the ink started to bleed from the bottom and coat the blank line of the other document with a smug smile.

She lifted the thin document and smiled in satisfaction when she saw the signature on the new document and looked completely passable— as if this was the document that Norah herself had signed.

Tama placed Norah's old copy into the fireplace for burning before she placed the thin copy of the document down on a thicker piece of paper, using adhesive to bind the two.

Even if Norah did discover that the document was forged, there would be no evidence to prove it.

It would be her word against Norah's.

And no one ever trusted the word of a slave.

* * *

Norah had just finished changing into her cup-bearer uniform when she found Bao waiting outside the door for her.

"It appears the Kahn would prefer to dine in his room tonight, and the others will also do the same," Bao informed her with a slight shrug.

Norah nodded, "So we are to bring their dinners or is that for the other servants?"

"They are unmarked and the Kahn prefers we deliver to them since we have proven we can be trusted. Besides, their chamber servants are not required until the morning. At least, after we are done delivering to their rooms, that is all that will be required out of us tonight. Do not forget that they will have to excuse you before you may leave in case they require anything."

Norah nodded, a few extra hours of sleep would be nice to have, although she did not like the idea of having to wait to be excused.

"Unfortunately, you will have to deliver to Ferra/Torr and Erron Black alone. I have to deliver to Ermac and Reptile, but as soon as I am finished I will come find you," Bao instructed.

Norah sighed heatedly at having to deliver to Erron Black's room, and she was unsure what to expect from Ferra; speaking of which: "Where are Ferra and Erron Black's rooms?"

"Erron Black's room is in the west hall, near the training courtyards. Should I have Bert or Carver walk with you?"

"No, I can manage on my own," Norah nodded. She knew that Bert and Carver were very tired and she had become somewhat accustomed to the palace. The boys were very sweet, but she didn't see the need to constantly have them as a bodyguard and did not see finding Black's room to be a problem. She just did not want to deliver to the mercenary.

"And Ferra?"

"Ferra will be on the other side of the door where Torr's food is delivered. When she is not at the dining hall she is with Torr," Bao explained. "You may have to open the door to give Ferra her meal."

Norah's eyes widened fearfully.

Bao wanted her to do _what?!_

While Ferra usually only demanded water or bread from her, she was not as afraid as her as she was of her symbiotic counterpart— especially after what happened a couple of days ago.

Norah almost had her arm ripped off when Torr had been waiting outside the slot and had reached through it with his hand. If Norah had not been paying attention, she would have most certainly been grabbed by him. She could still see the red eye that had looked through the slot after withdrawing his hand and his heavy breathing on the other side. After that, she was terrified of getting near the door— let alone opening it.

Bao must have noticed her terrified look and cleared his throat, "Would you rather deliver to Ermac and the Zaterran instead?"

Norah pulled herself from her thoughts when she heard Bao's question: "Ermac still frightens me, and I do not think Reptile likes me very much. All he does is snarl and scowl when he sees me."

"Yes I have noticed and do not feel too offended," Bao reassured her, "He still barely tolerates me."

Tama's son looked down the hallway to see Bert walking towards them and signaling to them that the food was ready. As Bao and Norah walked in the direction of the kitchen, she felt him looking at her, and she turned slightly to acknowledge his somewhat doubtful and concerned expression.

"Try and avoid conflict with Erron Black," Bao pleaded, almost as if he knew his words carried little weight. "After what I keep seeing at dinner each night, he is still rather annoyed with you."

Norah scoffed, "Do you think that I purposely look to start a conflict with him? He is the one that has something rude to say— not me."

"Yes, but you feed it to him," Bao pointed out with a frown. "I know you think of him as a parasite in your side but stop giving him a reason to dislike you. Just do not speak to him if he has something to say. Also, you do not always need to be so quick to argue with him."

Norah shot Bao an angry look, and he sighed in defeat, "Norah, just try. You will be around each other for some time, why not make it somewhat tolerable?"

The baker shook her head and frowned scornfully at Bao's words, "I know there is some truth to what you are saying, but I am not sure how well that will work."

They entered the kitchen and Carver passed over one of the trays towards Norah's direction. "Here you go Norah; it's poisoned— especially for Black," Carver winked at her and turned to Bert who flashed him a frown.

"Don't let a guard catch you saying that," Bert told him.

"Yeah, yeah I know, or they'll be painting the roses red with a gallon of Carver's blood," Carver said with a roll of his eyes.

"It ain't funny, Carver," Bert scorned.

The younger Earthrealmer whistled an upbeat tune at Bert's comment that Norah did not recognize and before she could grab her serving tray with Erron Black's food on it, Bao reached over and did it for her. He handed it to her and shot her an almost pleading look.

"Just ignore him," Bao reminded her. Norah grimaced and took the tray, a deep and heavy feeling of dread sinking in her as she made her way towards Erron Black's room and into whatever argument she knew was coming for her.

* * *

Erron Black sat in his chair sourly and passed the time cleaning his guns while he waited for his food to arrive. He knew who would be bringing it and when her face flashed through his mind, he scowled.

He was getting severely tired of her and he was also getting tired of seeing that damned mark on her wrist. It kept reminding him that she was not going anywhere soon.

Her smug demeanor the day after her branding had sent him on an angry downward spiral and now he wanted nothing more than to see her gone. The more he thought about it, regrettably he found out it was somewhat his damned fault. He should have never gone into that tavern and made that ridiculous deal to bring him whiskey.

Erron rolled his eyes at the thought and pushed it away. It wasn't his fault. It was hers for not being able to pay her rent and whatever Tama's strange interest in her was. Erron was just caught in the middle and stuck dealing with a whiny brat he couldn't stand.

He grumbled and clicked the cylinder back into place before he reached for the other revolver to clean. As he began to work, he felt the corner of his mouth pull up in thought as he stared down at his freshly cleaned pistol...

_Well, there was always one way he could get rid of her._

His eyes shot irritably to the door when he heard a knock and then back to his revolver as if he was considering it for a moment.

Black heard her knock again on the door but didn't rise from his chair to answer it. Instead, he decided to make her wait until he was done; she was his servant after all.

Another knock came at the door and he didn't look up as he wiped down the barrel of his gun and worked to clean the chambers of the cylinder with a small bristled brush.

Minutes dragged on, and he heard her sigh impatiently from the other side that before he snapped the cylinder back into place. He was done cleaning, but he gave her another couple of minutes. After that, he rose slowly from the chair and walked over toward his door. He couldn't help but notice that the closer he got, the more his face dropped into a frown and by the time he opened the door and saw her, he had a scowl on his face.

She held the tray in front of her and after her attention had fixed on the door from him opening it, she chose to cast her glare off to the side and waited for him to take the tray from her. He felt himself quirk an eyebrow at her and took the tray from her.

"Is it poisoned?" he asked sarcastically.

She continued to glare off to the side, but saw the corner of her mouth flicker up in a brief smile as if she recalled something before it dropped back into her tart look.

Her silence sent a small spark of annoyance through him, "You forget how to talk or do you see yourself as too high and mighty now since you got that thing burned on your arm?"

Erron noticed that she clenched one of her fists slightly before reopening it, and he smiled when he saw it was apparent she did not like his quip.

Knowing that she was not to be excused until he gave her permission, he walked inside his room and placed his tray of food on his table by his firearms. He glanced at them briefly for a moment, wondering if he should pick them up but brushed the idea away when he didn't feel like putting on his gun belt. He had already settled in for the evening, and the only thing he had on was the black sleeveless undershirt, his pants and boots on.

After he put the tray down he walked back to the door and lingered there, enjoying that she was impatiently waiting for him to excuse her and decided to let the minutes drag. Erron could tell she knew what he was doing and waited crossly with her eyes on the door frame in silence to make up his mind.

_Good. Get it in your head I'm in charge._

She looked at him, a professional demeanor trying it's best to remain on her face, but he could see nothing but irritation in her gaze: "Is there anything else that you need?"

Her tone was bitter and she said it through her teeth, causing him to smile coldly in amusement at her.

"Well, aren't you little miss polite," Erron remarked with a smirk before it fell into a stern look.

Both of her fists clenched tightly to the point of shaking and Black smirked in satisfaction at it. He wasn't sure why she was choosing to be as quiet as she was— she certainly had no problem yelling at him before— but he was enjoying that she was leaving herself open as an easy target for him.

After a week of stewing angrily, he decided to let her have it.

"If there is nothing else—"

He cut her off, "Actually, there's one thing I've been wantin' to know."

He heard her sigh slightly under her breath as she shifted from foot to foot before she finally looked at him and waited. Truthfully, there was something he did want to know ever since she took up her cup-bearing job and even more after she had gotten the brand stamped on her wrist.

The mercenary crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his head towards her slightly, "Was it worth it to get branded like a cow just so you could spit in my eye?"

Her eyes narrowed in confusion at his question, almost as if she had no idea what he was talking about, but he could tell she felt insulted nonetheless.

Black had thought about her reasons to be a cup-bearer for a long time and the only speculation he could come up with was that it was an opportunity to cause him further grievance. He knew that she was childish enough to do it and probably had known about the initiation beforehand from that kid that she hung around constantly. In fact, he was almost certain that was what had happened— especially after the gloating she did the day after she had gotten her mark.

"So, how's that petty vendetta of your's workin' out?" Black asked, a dark grin tugging at the corner of his mouth almost triumphantly.

It took her a second but as soon as she figured out what he was getting at, she scoffed at him and gave him an angry and bewildered look about what he was accusing her off. After a moment, she shook her head at him and he could sense that her silence had reached its end.

"You think I _wanted_ to be branded? Just for an opportunity to _provoke_ you?!" she questioned disdainfully, her tone bordering on flabbergasted. Her eyes darkened at him and a scowl came over her face. She took a step forward, a furious disposition on her face as her fists tightened, and he returned her gesture with an unimpressed look.

"I wanted NOTHING to do with you after everything you have done to me!" Her voice wavered angrily, her entire body trembling with rage. Apparently, she had been bottling this up for a while to say to him and it was obvious in her body language, but it didn't sway him.

He scoffed at her words, "I haven't done a damn thing to you."

The sarcastic laugh of disbelief at his words caused him to narrow his eyes angrily at her as she shook her head. She ran her hands over her face and exhaled into them, almost as if she was preparing to give him some stirring speech. She removed her hands from her face and gave him a questioning look before she asked a simple question.

"What have I done to you to make you treat me as cruelly as you do?"

Erron uncrossed his arms from his chest and took a step forward, his form towering over hers but much to his displeasure she didn't falter too much under it.

"Besides testin' my patience? I don't think I need any more of a reason," he didn't particularity like what he had told her despite it being the truth. She did annoy him but as he thought about it, it was somewhat of a weak excuse.

She gave him almost a disappointing look, "That is all? I annoy you. That is your reason?!" Her eyes narrowed irately at him and her voice dropped to an angry whisper, "Do want to know what it is that _you_ have done to _me_?"

"I don't really give a shit," he answered honestly with an exasperated sigh, "but I'm sure I'll hear it anyway."

"Ever since you forced that deal—that I did not even want to partake in— you have been nothing but rude to me," she began, her voice deepening into the lowest he had heard from her. Conveying the distemper she felt for him loud and clear.

Erron rolled his eyes at her, "Cry me a river..." he shot coldly.

She glowered at him but continued, "You hardly paid me for a service that I provided despite the one error I made with that horrible clear liquid— which you used to humiliate me. You dragged me to the palace against my will, but all that is nothing compared to what you have stolen from me in the end."

His eyes darkened at her words, and he took a threatening step towards her, making her shrink back slightly under his ire stare, "And what's that?" he asked lowly.

Honestly, he did not really feel any remorse about what she had told him he had done to her. She had deserved it by being the stubborn ass she was, but he was curious to know what tribulation she had on her mind and eager to shoot it down.

She took her own step forward and he felt slightly entertained by her small show of bravado despite the stern expression he wore on his face.

"I saw the way you looked in my direction when Rhen and the others came," she told him in a vehement whisper. "I could see that you were considering of helping me, even if for a moment— and do not deny it. I saw it and you know I did..."

Erron frowned slightly at her words; she just had to bring that up and what bothered him the most, was that he knew she was right. For a millisecond, he did think of helping her but he hadn't and he had forgotten about it until she reminded him of it.

He caught the sight of her wiping a frustrated tear from her eye sharply with her hand, her spiteful expression still present as she continued.

"All you had to do was lift your gun, shoot him in the back of the head and we would not be trapped in each other's company"— her eyes narrowed hard at him—"but you chose to turn your back and walk away. My father died that day. Did you know that? I lost everything because you could not take a moment to help when I could see that you wanted to and you knew I needed it."

Her eyes welled up with tears for a moment and she blinked them back. He said nothing and watched as her face twisted in embarrassment that she was crying in front of him before she wiped the few tears that had gotten away.

Even though he wanted to silence his guilt, he knew that she was right about what she had said, but her words still annoyed him. However, he knew that no matter what he said in debate, it would be a lie to tell her that she was wrong.

"And then... you brought me here for whatever purpose Tama is after through me and you robbed me of the little freedom I had left. It may not have been your intention that you may have been doing your job, but you played your part in it as well. Yet you have the nerve to tell me that the only reason you can think of why you despise me as much as you do is because I annoy you? That I am the one who carries the petty vendetta?"

"You wanna hear me say _'sorry'_ is that it?" he asked bluntly, his tone uncaring.

Her teeth bared at him as her eyes engulfed into fire at his unsympathetic tone, "I will not ask something from you that I know you will never say! All I want is for you to know that I am not seeking revenge or an apology because I know for certain now that you only care about yourself and why you are as friendless as you are!"

He gritted his teeth at that and before he could say anything she had already turned her heel and began to storm away from him. He fumed as he watched her leave, her words aggravating him and burrowing deep.

Unfortunately, and he kicked himself for it, the only thing he could come up was: "I didn't say you could leave!"

She shot him an irate glare over her shoulder and shouted at him: "I don't give a _shit_!"

For a moment he regretted that he didn't grab his guns because when he heard her throw his words back at him, he would have probably shot her in the back of the head for that. He certainly had killed for less. Instead he opted for turning on his heels and swinging the door behind him with a hard slam, her words echoing in his head like the buzzing of bees.

He clenched his fists as his eyes landed on his freshly cleaned revolvers on his table, begging to be shot now that they were pampered, and boy did he have a target in mind. Erron went over to his chair and sat in it as his eyes flickered between eating or shooting.

He tapped his finger against the surface of his desk and sighed irritably.

If he chose to eat, he was telling himself that he didn't care about her troubles and that it was nothing to him. If he chose to pick up his guns and go after her to end this, he was giving in to the fact that she had gotten to him. For some reason, he found it to be a difficult decision to make.

He wasn't in the mood to eat anymore and bitterly discovered that she was very good at making him lose his appetite. His eyes landed on his guns and he narrowed his eyes intently at them, truly feeling the scale tip further in their direction.

After not giving it a second thought until now, he started to feel the guilt he had for not assisting her the day he left with Reptile return to him, in addition to the anger he felt that he knew that she was right about one detail.

He really could have just shot the weasel in the back of the head and been on his way. The truth in her statement made him unwillingly feel more regret and he found himself even angrier at the thought.

He was tired of this. He was tired of her and he hated that she was right. It set his nerves on fire and he reached over for the revolvers and picked them up, along with his gun belt and walked out his door with his food left untouched.

He placed the revolvers in their holsters and placed the belt to his hips as he exited his room and looked down the hallway in both directions.

He took a moment, felt an idea worm it's way into his mind and decided to go down the corridor in the opposite direction she had left.

He wasn't going to kill her; it would just make him feel guiltier if he did after her little martyr speech, but she did mention something, or rather someone that could get rid of her and perhaps be beneficial to both of them.

It didn't take long for Black to find Tama's room and he didn't bother knocking before he entered. She sat at her large desk looking over several documents and only seemed a little startled that he had barged in. After her small shock she looked at him and then back down at her documents as if his presence didn't matter to her.

Black flashed a look at her; irked that she disregarded him: "I want her gone."

She looked up briefly and then shrugged indifferently at his forceful request. "She has a large debt to pay, and she has already signed a contract to repay it."

"What debt?" he questioned indignantly.

Tama flashed him a small smile, almost as if she was surprised that he had asked: "For me hiring your services to fetch her. Such a small task did not come cheaply if you recall."

His fists tightened at her arrogant tone. If he had known, he would have never agreed to take her money.

"I don't care— get rid of her," Black spat, his tone low; losing his patience.

Tama continued to keep the calm and cocky expression on her face as she looked at him and he thought of pistol whipping her for the look alone. "I'm afraid there is nothing you can do. She is here until she works off her debt."

Erron lifted one of his guns from his holster, "There's _plenty_ I can do."

Tama's smile vanished from her face and she responded to his threat by leaning back in her chair; crossing her arms over her chest. "If she brings you such displeasure you should have not of agreed to bring her—you did not exactly refuse my deal. Did you think that she would be baking here freely? It was not charity; it was business and she will remain here no matter how you chose to threaten me. Her contract has been approved this morning and is under record. You will not accomplish anything by shooting me."

His hand tightened around the handle of his revolver as he tried to seek a way to counter her words, smiling slightly when he found his loophole.

"Any contract can be bought," he replied.

Tama's mouth lifted into a grin at his words, "She is not for sale. Her contract is not open for negotiating."

Erron stepped forward and cocked his gun at her head, "I wasn't asking nicely. How much?"

Tama did not falter under the sight of the barrel pointed at her, and he hated to admit that it annoyed him, but it did. The Outworlder looked at him with a small sense of pompous amusement and he felt his finger start to pull back on the trigger slightly.

"She is not for sale," she told him sternly, "I am somewhat surprised and curious to see you so rattled by a simple baker. If you are so livid at her presence here, you should not have brought her to the palace in the first place. Perhaps you should go grab an alcoholic drink to calm your nerves?"

Black fired the revolver and watched as Tama jumped when it missed her—intentionally— and embedded itself into the stone wall behind her. She turned her attention to the bullet hole in the wall behind her and shot him an enraged glare as smoke swirled around the end of the barrel of the gun he fired off.

"I won't miss next time" he informed her darkly, "And if you won't get rid of her, then I will."

"If your guilt will allow you to," Tama replied simply, a knowing smirk on her face. Black scowled at her and turned on his heels to leave, refraining from shooting her in the head like he wanted to. Instead, he opted for calling Tama on her bluff and finding the annoying little bartender that was the root of his temper.

* * *

Norah felt herself approach the heavy door with the slot at the bottom with more calm than she didn't think she would have when she went to feed Ferra and Torr.

After storming back to the kitchen to grab Ferra's tray, Torr's bread and stopping in the slaves' dining hall for Torr's bucket, she felt a heavy feeling of dread fill her at what had transpired between her and Erron Black. She had sincerely tried to heed Bao's words, to ignore him but he was unrelenting, and she couldn't take it anymore.

She wasn't planning on telling him everything she felt but after his assumption that she maliciously became a cup-bearer to annoy him, made her see red and she couldn't stop herself from spilling all the resentment she felt and letting him know her side of the story and how wrong he was.

Norah understood he did not like her; that was fine, but she certainly wasn't here to purposely aggravate him. In a way, she liked to think that if maybe Erron Black could see her viewpoint and things would be smoother between them. Unfortunately, she knew that she was certainly fooling herself.

He didn't care about what he had done to her and she was afraid that she may have annoyed him too much this time. From the little she had known, she could tell that he was not one to let her have the final say. There had always been a retaliation of sorts whether it was coming to the tavern to scare her or making her drink the clear whiskey. He was very used to being having the last word of the conversation and she knew that there would be something to follow.

Norah was very aware that she may have crossed a boundary that she might not be able to return from and for some strange reason, she was fine with it. A heavy weight had lifted from her shoulders when she had told him everything that he had done intentionally or unintentionally to her and she felt relief from it. Even if there was some consequence that would come later, she at least had finally let him know that she was not the one to blame.

On the other hand, she knew the consequences to come from such a melodramatic show would not be as simple as a slap on the wrist. Norah knew something worse was on its way and her chest felt tight with fear when she tried to speculate what he had in mind when he confronted her.

The baker stopped in front of the door, Ferra's tray in one hand and Torr's bucket and bread in the other, and sighed slightly under her breath as she placed the bucket down and knocked on the door. Perhaps Torr would be gracious enough to kill her quickly so she did not have to wait for Erron Black to do it.

She heard voices on the other side of the door and braced herself when she heard both the quick and thunderous footsteps run up the door.

"Who knock-knock?" came Ferra's screechy and child-like voice on the other side.

"Bread-lady," Norah replied, using the moniker Ferra always called her by.

"What Bread-Lady want?" Ferra asked sharply on the other side of the door, almost as if she was annoyed that Norah was bothering her.

"I have your dinner here and I have Torr's bread," Norah answered, her eyes flickered to the slot, "I will slide them through the slot for you both—"

"That ok—Torr say you can come in," Ferra interrupted on the other side. Norah's face dropped in disappointment; she was hoping to avoid opening the door.

Elder Gods damn it...

Regrettably, she placed Ferra's tray down and went to unbolt the door; she couldn't help but notice how slowly she did and felt fear enter here when she was unsure what to expect.

After she reached for the door, she let out a shaky breath and pushed it open slowly before she reached down to grab Ferra's tray and Torr's bucket that had his loaf of bread sticking out.

Ferra met her on the other side, but that's not who Norah saw first.

She had seen Torr from a distance a long time ago in the marketplace and she had recalled how she never wanted to get in the path of him. Now that she was standing in the doorway that he towered over, she wanted nothing more than to mold into the wall and disappear.

Torr was tremendously intimidating up close and it was not just due to his heavily muscled and tall physique, but also because of the macabre mysteriousness of the hooded and bloody burlap sack he wore over his head. He breathed haggardly like a massive beast and it was clear he had the same temperament and intelligence as one from first impression— it also made him even more dangerous.

She swallowed nervously and only took her eyes off him when she suddenly felt Ferra grab the plate from her and then the bucket. Her eyes fixed on her briefly and she noticed that Ferra gave her a frown.

"Torr scare Bread-Lady?" she asked her, her question clearly indicating to the frightened expression Norah knew she had on her face. She heard Torr grunt as well; almost as if he was asking the same question to her and Norah searched her mind quickly for the right thing to say.

"No... I was just... I was just wondering if Torr was happy with is bread... or if he wants me to make something else..?"

It was pitifully meek the way she had asked and she braced herself for one of Torr's meaty hands to come up and pummel her.

Ferra gave her a sudden, suspicious look, "Why Bread-Lady care if Torr like it?"

Norah felt her hands grow clammy and she wished she was back at her interrogation with Hulin instead of being questioned by the homicidal symbiotic pair.

"Because...I care… I do not want to give Torr something he does not like," Norah said, hoping it was the right answer.

Instead of anger, Norah watched as Ferra's face dropped and instead of a defensive scowl it softened. Almost as if she was pleasantly surprised.

Norah watched and held her breath as Ferra looked at Torr, as if wanting a second opinion about what she had said. The baker exhaled when she heard Torr grunt and nod his head; seemingly happy with her answer.

Much to Norah's displeasure, however, Torr leaned in towards her and it took all that she had not to shrink back when his massive head came level with hers; the red eye stared intently at her.

It was frightening and she felt his breath through the mask ghost over her softly as he looked her over, trying to decipher if she was a friend, and felt the seconds tick by unnervingly slow.

She kept her ground despite how much she wanted to flee, but she had the feeling the second she did Torr would attack her. She heard Torr inhale deeply as if taking in her scent. Norah couldn't help but stare at him in confusion when he did but breathed a sigh of relief when he stepped back and she reclaimed her safe space away from him.

Torr suddenly grabbed the bucket and bread, making Norah flinch slightly when he did it, stomped away and she finally got to see the outside area far more clearly now that Torr's hulking form did not block it.

It was a simple stone courtyard with a large tree in the middle. She noticed that various piles of junk lay by the base of the tree and by the looks of it, seemed to be Ferra and Torr's personal things. They varied from torn pieces of ratty curtains, large pieces of branches that looked like they had been broken off from the tree, a small metal trunk that was hiding behind the tree and a blue hammock that swung high in the canopy. Other than that, there were random items from pots and pans, to trinkets and to skulls strewn about the place.

She caught Ferra looking at her with a studious expression and Norah smiled at her simply to not come across as rude. Like with Black, Norah started to get somewhat impatient as she waited for Ferra to excuse her. Norah gave her a confused look when Ferra looked down at the tray in her hand and then back to Norah with a sideways smile; almost as if she was contemplating asking her something.

Whatever it was, Norah never found out and without another word, Ferra darted off to join Torr and Norah took that as her cue to leave. Ferra and Torr sat under the tree together and ate while Norah slowly backed out and closed the door softly behind her, trying her best not to draw attention.

As soon as the door closed behind her she let a huge sigh of relief that she was not dead and began to walk back to her room although she doubted she would get able sleep that night...

She still had to worry about Erron Black.

* * *

It had not taken Erron much effort to track her down as he made his way down the kitchen staff's hallway quietly. He walked with a silent stride and one of his revolvers in his hand; if this was the only way he was ever going to get rid of her so be it.

He was still rather irate with her and even more so after the visit with Tama but in the back of his mind, he felt somewhat unsure he was going the right way about it. He cast the thought aside as much as he could— this would be the quickest way for the both of them.

Erron didn't owe her anything and he refused to feel remorse about what had happened to her.

She had pushed her limit and he was done with her.

This would be the end of it even if this was not originally what he had planned on doing.

Black came to the first door and listened intently on the other side of the wood for any indication that she might be awake. He heard what he thought was soft breathing on the other side and it was the clue he needed to figure out that she was asleep and he didn't bother with any formalities.

He reached for the handle and turned it, only to find that it was locked. Black took a step backward, brought his foot up and kicked hard, knocking the door open and nearly off its hinges.

The door swung open and poured light into the room as he stepped in. Erron easily found her in the tiny room and she had shot up from her cot, her eyes wide and full of panic when she saw him standing in her room.

After a couple of moments, he noticed that she started to regard him with an unsurprised expression that he wasn't fond of. She breathed heavily at him and he watched as her eyes glanced at the gun in his hand with trepidation and then back to him.

Black could tell she was afraid but she nodded her head understandably at him as she waited on her cot holding her breath. She had changed from her purple uniform into a long, simple white dress and it, unfortunately, made her look more vulnerable than the woman who had scorned him earlier; he didn't like it and it made him uncomfortable.

He threw away the thought, forgetting about it as he remembered why he was here and walked towards her menacingly; each step earning a heavier and shakier breath from her as he did.

Black stopped right in front of her and he immediately felt wrong about being here, especially with the way she stared up at him from her cot.

She looked up at him like an old dog that knew it was about to be put down and he felt guilt start to claw at him in the back of his mind. He technically did not have to do this; he only wanted to be rid of her... no if Tama didn't have any intention of removing her then he would do it.

_Just get this over with._

He forced himself to recall his hatred for her and gripped the gun in his hand tightly, a glower forming on his face as he remembered all the aggravation she had caused him.

"You want an apology?" he asked with a bitingly low tone. "Here you go."

In the blink of an eye, he pressed the barrel of his revolver into her cheek and grabbed the back of her head roughly to keep her head steady. She yelped in surprise, her hand instinctively wrapping around the wrist that held the gun and tried to turn her head away from the gun in her flesh. He kept a firm grip on the back of her head as his hand tangled harshly in her hair and didn't allow her any movement.

She cowered, her eyes closing shut tightly when he pulled the hammer back with an ominous click. After a couple of seconds, she seemed to collect her thoughts and he watched as her face dropped into a look of morbid acceptance; realization sinking in.

She looked up at him, waiting for him to pull the trigger with a determined and angry look on her face as he dug the gun into her face.

"Go ahead then..." she said softly, her voice wavering with fear.

Erron was quite surprised by her simple answer. There was no blubbering, no pathetic whinny crying or incoherent angry screaming. Just a simple sentence and the understandable fear he could detect in her voice; he wasn't really expecting this and he glared at her, unconvinced that she thought he was serious.

"Just like that?" Erron asked her, doubting she was willing to just give up so easily. "You got nothin' else to say?"

He saw a terrified, but furious tear run down her face and could feel her trembling like a leaf, she knew he was not playing around and gave him an answer that hit him in the gut.

"J-Just do it... I am tired of waiting for you to pull the trigger... and it would be the nicest thing you have done..."

He had killed more people than she could imagine with the same gun he had pressed into her face and Erron had never given a single thought to any of the targets that had fallen by his hand. The only difference between them was that he had been paid to kill most of them and the others he hadn't had either deserved it in some way or had attacked him. She, unfortunately, did not fall into any category that would have allowed him not to hesitate in pulling the trigger.

She wasn't a target.

She had not done anything of malicious intent against him purposely.

She was not fighting back.

She was just... waiting.

She wasn't calling him on a bluff or begging for a mercy killing either. She was just telling him she accepted that he held the power whether she lived or not and the weight of the realization did not sit comfortably on his shoulders. What made it worse was that she didn't plead for her life either. She was just waiting fearfully for what his answer would be.

This was pitiful and in the back of his mind, he knew that the reason he was here was also a pitiful one. No matter how many times she had annoyed him, it was not a great excuse to make him kill her.

"Do you even know my name?" she asked him suddenly, her voice trembling with fright but also carrying resentment. Erron frowned instantly at the question.

Before when he had gone looking for her for Tama, he had not cared to know her name. Now he wished he had taken a better interest in finding out because now the question stung and made him feel even more like shit. She nodded her head bitterly at him, reading his answer clearly on his face.

"T-This... this should be easy for you then..."

Black sighed angrily at her. She was right— this should have been easy for him. So why was it so goddamn hard to just shot her? No matter how much he tried to remind himself to put his own thoughts first, to try and convince himself to kill her, he knew that he wasn't going to be able to do it. Everything about this was sad and pathetic and he hated it.

Erron knew he had to admit he had caused her more grief than she had caused him. He was the one at fault and if anyone deserved to have a gun pointed at them, it was him.

"Black... let her go," came an older and stern voice he recognized behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see Robert, accompanied by the Outworld kid she hung around all the time, an old woman and another he didn't recognize watching from the doorway. Clearly fearful for the girl he was aiming his gun at.

Erron exhaled indignantly out of his nose, if he had any lingering feelings about killing her, they were wiped clean by the apparent audience he had now. He gave her one last stony look and with a slight jerk, released her and withdrew the gun from his face.

A look of confusion and relief flooded her face at the same time as she watched him angrily de-cock the revolver and stormed passed the people that lingered in the doorway. He could feel the irate and fearful glances shot his way but ignored them.

As he walked back to his room, Erron decided now was a good of time as any to finally cash in on that jar of moonshine he kept in his trunk in case he needed it.

There were too many thoughts running through his head that he needed quieting.

* * *

When Erron arrived at dinner that next day and he instantly felt the tension between them as strong as the hangover he had. The moonshine had done little to quell the guilty feeling he had still present within him and had only succeeded in making him feel worse, especially when he saw how she acted around him.

When he had walked in, she did not even look his way. Instead she had her eyes fixed downwards at the pitcher in her hand and when he had passed her, she tried to shrink even further into the wall she was pressed against. He sighed when he saw how things would be from now on between the two of them.

He felt guilty and she was now petrified of him.

Erron sat in his chair, thinking of ways to remedy and lift the suffocating and awkward pressure between them.

As much as he hated to admit it, he was the one that would have to make the first move and she most likely knew it as well. It would take some humility on his part he was not certain he had or wanted to show. However, if it made her feel better, than it would get rid of the guilt he felt off his back as well and they could both go on with their lives trying to ignore each other.

Kotal Kahn walked in and after that, Erron figured out what he would need to do.

As was customary, Kotal Kahn, Reptile and Ferra moved their water goblets to the side and signaled for the servants against the wall to serve them water.

For the first time since she had been assigned to give water to Ferra and him, he moved his goblet along with the others for her to give him water.

It was a simple gesture of good faith; a small, subtle signal to show her that he was no longer annoyed or frustrated that she was here.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could tell that she had noticed and finished pouring water in Ferra's goblet. Hesitantly, she approached his, poured water into his cup and he turned in her direction to watch her.

She was completely deadpan, almost to the point where it was too much and it sent another feeling of remorse through him that he was making her uncomfortable.

As dinner carried on, he managed to find another method he could use to smooth things with; a point that she had brought up that was perhaps long overdue, considering how long they knew each other.

Dinner ended sooner than he really wanted it to, not at all feeling so eager to embarrass himself like he was going to and waited until the others left, leaving him, the kid and her in the dining room by themselves.

_Better late than never..._

He stood and turned to face her and noticed she backed into the wall more when he did; obviously more than displeased that he was thinking of addressing her.

He swallowed the awkwardness he felt and looked at her intently with a blank expression.

_Goddamit, this is stupid…_

"I never did get your name," he stated, trying his best to soften his voice as much as he could.

For the first time since he entered the room, she looked at him and instead of fear he could see the unfathomable hatred that flared in her eyes and he immediately regretted asking. Apparently he had said the wrong thing.

Her chest rose up and down in anger, her nostrils flaring as she walked up to him slowly and scoffed at him. "And you _never_ will."

Erron sighed irritably as he nodded his head in understanding, unsure whether to feel reprieve that he made an effort or disappointed she didn't accept his subtle apology. Either way, he felt caught in between the two emotions and he guess he could live with it.

He shrugged indifferently, "If that's the way you want it."

She didn't say anything, but he could tell she was still unrelentingly furious with him and it was all he needed to know. To be honest, he couldn't blame her.

He turned to walk away from her. She could be mad at him all she liked, but he knew she couldn't say that he didn't try and in a strange way, he felt settled.

She hated him and he didn't really care anymore.

It was the only thing that resembled close to an apology that he would ever let her pull from him.


	10. Chapter 10

** Chapter 10   
** **Singin' in the Rain**

* * *

After months of pursuit by Kotal Kahn's insufferable guards, the two outlawed Edenians finally found solace in the caves near the borders of the Golden Desert. Ever since Mileena's death by D'Vorah's hand, their heads had been desired for Kotal Kahn's execution block. Being affiliated with Mileena's losing side automatically made them targets for eliminating. They had gotten very close with the Zaterran in the Kuatan Jungle, and they were starting to realize how drastic their situation was becoming.

Rain was livid that he had been dragged into it all. They were like rats being chased out of a kitchen and the Edenian Prince was growing exasperated being anything below his station. Tanya, he could tell, was also growing tired of it as well even if she never said anything; her discontented demeanor was enough of an indicator they felt similar.

The light danced around the cave as they sat in silence, both of them contemplating whether they had reached the end of their ropes to start retaliating. After months of being chased over Outworld, a different approach was needed. They had to start taking the offensive if they hoped to survive this and seize their personal goals.

It was no question that Rain still desired the throne. It was the only reason he had even agreed to be Mileena's adviser in the first place. His interest had purely been selfish ones and he felt no remorse about it. The only thing that he did feel displeasure about was how Mileena had let his plan go to waste. She had failed and in return, so did he.

Rain knew that Tanya was aware of his deception, even if she never voiced it; he had been very well aware that she had overheard his scheme in the Kuatan Jungle before his confrontation with D'Vorah. Rain scoffed internally at the memory; she was a hypocrite. Betrayal was her most defining attribute, and she had no right to judge him. Dislike of each other aside, they were the only allies left for each other.

Their mission was the only thing they still had in common. The Edenians were both severely displeased with Kotal Kahn on the throne of Outworld, and they wanted him eliminated. After his demise, Tanya would fulfill her dream of a free Edenia and Rain would rule Outworld. To accomplish either, the Osh-Tekk ruler must die.

However, they were unable to come up with a satisfactory idea of how to accomplish such a feat. They knew they had allies through the Tarkatans through association with Mileena that they could utilize. However, the remaining Tarkatans were also laying low; hunted as well.

Rain found dealing with such monsters lowly but they presented themselves as their only playable card, even if their loyalty was rocky at best. It was the only option, though, especially after the Red Dragon had refused to accept Rain's offer. The mercenary group's services demanded money that Tanya, Rain and certainly the Tarkatans, did not have to offer up-front, and they declined them.

They were hoping to appeal to Kano's resentment of Kotal Kahn, especially after the Kahn had tried to kill him. However, they knew that the leader of the Black Dragon had fled to Earthrealm after their attack in Sun Do. So Kano was also out of the question. Relying on the Tarkatans was the only thing they could hope to use if they needed it.

Nevertheless, they both knew that they simply couldn't charge in with a meager force despite that Kotal's forces were diminished after the civil war. Kotal Kahn still held the numbers and power in his favor.

They would need a strategy.

Something unexpected.

"We will need to search for food and water," Tanya announced suddenly, her eyes watching the flames flicker from where she sat.

Rain nodded his head as his stomach growled as well in agreement. The Kuatan Jungle had been a perfect spot for them to find both, and since they had left, they were even more starved and ragged.

"It will be no issue," Rain agreed with a passive tone, "The village is not far."

"Are you wishing to be spotted?" Tanya grumbled, "There are loyalists to Ko'atal in the village."

"Then assure _you_ are not spotted," Rain spat, rolling his eyes.

"Perhaps _you_ can also pull your weight," Tanya retorted, her eyes narrowed at him. "I tire of being the one to fetch our supplies."

"Your tiredness is nothing to me," Rain shot back with an indifferent scoff.

"Afraid you will chip a delicate nail, Prince?" Tanya returned sarcastically, her ire glare still present.

"Do not test my patience, Tanya," Rain warned, finding her nagging wearing thin already. "I grow tired of your useless prattle already."

"And I grow tired of you before each conversation _._ Your ego wafts from you like a horrid stench," Tanya scowled. "The sound of your voice is annoying as well."

Rain fumed, but he chose not to comment further. It would do them both no good to continue to argue like a couple of children and waste energy they could not afford to lose. Their efforts were needed elsewhere. Staying alive, being the most important at the moment.

Rain thoughts drifted to the village nearby as his eyes darted around their surroundings with disgust. Unlike them, the filthy Kotal Kahn supporters in the community were sleeping comfortable in beds and dining on food that didn't consist of scraps and bugs. He was tired of this lifestyle and his patience had reached its end.

If they were to take the offensive, then so be it.

He was done hiding like a mongrel.

The hydromancer move towards the opening of the cave with his fists clenched and a determination in his eyes that Tanya noticed and addressed.

"And where is it that you think you are going?" Tanya questioned him incredulously. Rain looked over his shoulder and met her raised, irked eyebrow with a dirty look. He narrowed his eyes as she continued to sit on the ground staring. Regrettably, he knew that he would need her assistance and groaned inwardly at the fact.

"How many are in the village?" Rain asked her, his voice bordering on a rhetorical tone. He knew it was a small village.

"Not many," she answered with a shrug, "Most of them are women and children."

"And yet you sit there," Rain snorted disdainfully. With that, he turned on his heel and left the cave. It wasn't long until he heard her footsteps running to catch up with him, and he smiled behind his face mask. He had purposely chided her so she would have to follow him.

"We need to stay hidden, Rain," Tanya reminded him direly, grasping his shoulder to stop him. He threw off her hand with a roll of his shoulder and looked at her with a devilish smirk in his eyes.

"A _God_ doesn't hide from insects," he declared, his tone boastful. "They hide in the dirt from him."

With that, the demigod marched in the direction of the twinkling lights of the sleepy village and Tanya couldn't help but click her tongue at the egotistical son of Argus. Bitterly, she followed behind him and dug within for whatever little energy she had that she knew would be spent trying to conquer the tiny village that Rain apparently wanted.

Rain knew that this was an aggressive move, but he didn't care.

His priority was to take what would be his. The village serving as an appetizer to what he actually desired.

If he wanted what was due to him, he would have to get his hands dirty for once.

* * *

_A month later..._

The boy had never visited Z'unkahrah before, but it was not hard to find the towering domed place that stood out like a beacon. He had the most difficult troubles behind him after all. Now all that was left to complete what his mother had set out for him to do and deliver the parchment to the Emperor. He had to know of the man that had taken over their village and the monsters that had come after his arrival.

He had barely managed to get out, and he didn't think anyone else would, so it was up to him. However, he barely thought he would be able to make it even further. His body screaming for the rest that he wanted nothing more to give into. He was so thirsty and hungry to the point every move towards the palace was exhausting. He felt every muscle ache and his throat felt as dry and as scratchy as the desert sand beneath his bare feet.

But he was almost there.

He approached the steps, his feet feeling like massive boulders as he fumbled his way up. Through his deliriousness, he heard one of the guards shout at him; telling him to stop.

Yes... he had to stop. He felt his knees buckle and scratch against the stone steps and despite the pain, the stone felt like a pillow to him. He heard the guards footsteps approach him and smelt the leather of their shoes as the guard flipped him over.

The boy smiled when he felt the guard tug at the parchment from his hand.

And then nothing else.

* * *

After the incident in her room, Erron hadn't expected how awkward dinners would be for them from now on. Sure, he had a general idea, but certainly not at the level they were currently in now.

He was very aware that she was still angry with him; it wasn't hard to see. However, he didn't expect her to look as miserable as she was. To be honest, he wasn't entirely sure it was all his doing but he knew he had some contribution to it. She still put on a professional face about it, but he could see it in her eyes that she was lost in some macabre thought. It was distracting and slowly he started to feel it eat away at his patience, as well as ruin his appetite.

By the end of the month, he was thoroughly agitated, and Erron was beginning to feel the inside of his cheek go raw from how often he was biting it in thought.

He sighed irritably where he sat.

She needed to move on. Otherwise they would be going around in circles. Hate him, he didn't give a shit, just stop looking like beaten dog all the time. Erron had even made something of a small effort. He wasn't talking to her to refrain from upsetting her further, and he made a habit of sliding his goblet at dinner for her to serve him. However, she didn't seem to acknowledge it or even notice.

What the hell did she want from him? He had already apologized, and he wasn't going to do it again.

_Get over it._

"Bread-lady!"

Black felt himself snapped from his thoughts from Ferra's shrill but forceful voice.

The symbiote had a hard frown on her face as she waved her goblet at her. The gunman noticed that she blinked a couple of times before rushing over to give her water, as if remembering where she was. Ferra continued to glower at her, and Erron noticed that she seemed somewhat unnerved by it. She frowned and went to stand by the wall, sulking slightly from Ferra's treatment.

Erron tapped his finger against the side of his plate. Maybe it wasn't _just_ him. The thought relaxed him slightly, and he was somewhat surprised by Ferra's unknown and sudden dislike for her.

From what he could tell, Ferra was fine with her until a couple of days ago. Now it seemed that Ferra wanted nothing to do with her. He also couldn't help but notice that the white-haired girl still liked the bread despite her ill-treatment of the person who made it. Whatever, wasn't his business anyway, just like it wasn't his business how she felt.

Erron looked up to see Kotal Kahn take notice of the three of them. Even with the veil of light over the Osh-Tekk's pupils, the bounty hunter noticed that they shifted from Ferra, to her and then to him momentarily before he frowned slightly.

He didn't address what he was thinking but pushed it aside to discuss the most important topic of dinner that night.

"There has been the word of the location of the Edenians," the emperor declared, earning attentive stares from his guards. "It appears they may have taken refuge in a small village in the Golden Desert."

Reptile snarled at the mention of Rain and Tanya, still somewhat agitated that they had slipped him. Ermac gave a single, stoic nod and Erron leaned back in his chair with his arm draped over the back of it. All of them waiting for the Kahn to continue.

"Although they are not what concerns me," Kotal said, "There have been also reports of Tarkatans along the northern trade routes. I fear this may be an omen to a similar attempt in the past to sabotage our crops."

Erron knew the cue when he heard it.

_Finally, something to do._

"Mr. Black, Ermac proceed to the Golden Desert and deal with the Edenians," Kotal Kahn ordered, "Reptile, I send you to the northern trade routes to investigate these sightings further."

"As you wish, Ko'atal," Reptile answered with an eager nod.

Ermac bowed his head in compliance and Black gave a simple nod. He would have rather gone to the trade routes, but the desert was fine too. As long as it got him out of here and perhaps shooting someone would help take his mind off his misplaced thoughts. Speaking of shooting...

"You want 'em dead or alive?" Erron asked the Emperor.

Kotal Kahn's mouth pulled into a half-smile. "Death will come for them regardless, but I have longed to see the both of them beheaded in the Courtyard. Alive, if you can see to it."

_Dammit._

Truthfully, he hoped it was the other option. He still owed Rain a bullet that he never got to fire thanks to Mileena's sai through his hand. However, if the Kahn paid more for bringing them back alive, who was he to argue.

Dinner ended soon after that, and the Kahn left the room and to their assignments.

Ermac and Reptile were the first to leave and before he could as well, he noticed that she walked over to Ferra without permission. The gunslinger had started to lift himself from the chair but lowered himself back into it, somewhat curious to see what she had to say to Ferra.

"Ferra?"

The small Kahn's guard had already jumped from the chair and seemed annoyed that she was trying to address her. Erron raised an eyebrow at Ferra's very forced hostile expression. The symbiote was doing her best to put on a hard demeanor to throw off the cup-bearer, but he couldn't help but find it reminding him of a pouty child that didn't get their favorite desert at dinner.

"Have I done something wrong?" she asked softly and he could tell she was concerned about what Ferra's answer could be.

Ferra spat in her native tongue rudely in response, and she gave her a hard shove with her hands on her stomach. The girl took off after that, leaving the cup-bearer looking more confused than she had been before. She looked across the table at the other cup-bearer for an answer, and he did nothing but shrug his shoulders with a baffled look; also without a clue.

Erron finally rose from his seat and gave one last look to her that she returned with an angry glare. Now that he had a better look at her, he could see how tired she was. Her eyes had large bags under them, and they became more exaggerated when she narrowed her bloodshot eyes at him.

"You know you look like shit, right?" he told her bluntly. Not his best bedside manner but he didn't care if she was offended or not.

As expected, she didn't like it and scoffed angrily in response.

Erron shrugged his shoulders and when she didn't say anything, took that as his opportunity to leave. He shook his head. Why had he bothered to tell even her that? Why didn't he just ignore her? He hated to admit that maybe it was because he still felt guilty, and he was hoping that if she were well, he could forget about almost putting a bullet in her. She needed to stop lingering on it if that was the case. Otherwise they would never be civil in each other's company.

He was tired of being reminded of it.

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his finger and thumb, already feeling a headache form

Maybe a week of his head baking in the desert was what he needed to clear his mind.

* * *

Carver was not typically one interfere with a person if they gave clear indications that they wanted to be left alone. However, as the weeks progressed since Norah and Black's incident, he was beginning to worry. He also noticed that others were as well.

After that night, Norah's mood began to taper. She made her bread, went to her other job and went to bed after eating; akin to a lifeless robot.

Between Bert, Bao and himself, they only managed to pull a couple of words from her that did not pertain to their jobs. Just simple conversations, but she still had a listless tone.

He was no stranger to this sort of behavior. Depression was pretty typical in Earthrealm; he had it for a while himself when he came to Outworld, but he discovered there were worst things to be depressed over after he got used to the scenery. He prescribed everyone suffering from depression in Earthrealm to come to Outworld and see if they still complained about not getting croutons in their salad.

It was quite obvious it was happening to Norah. He wasn't stupid, and she had a good reason. Tama's sick interest in her didn't go unnoticed between him and Bert, and if that wasn't enough, she almost got wasted by Doc Holiday.

He admit, it was rather intense what he saw. Carver knew they didn't like each other, but he didn't think Erron Black would try and kill her. After watching all that, _he_ needed ice cream and to watch his soap operas, and he couldn't imagine how Norah must have felt. Watching the scene was more heated than the time he watched two sea turtles fight to the death over a head of lettuce— which he threw from his grocery bag. The turtles were fine but he was not proud.

Still, he didn't think Norah the type of person to let something like that bother her. She was a native Outworlder, and he noticed that they brushed off death threats rather quickly. Carver could tell that there was something else.

The Earthrealmer had been around similar people who acted the same, and he knew his attempts to crack a joke, or give a kumbaya speech typically fell flat. He knew it was best to give her space until she felt the need to come around.

That was nearly a month ago, and he was beginning to doubt that they were making the right approach. To be honest, he was getting somewhat annoyed that she chose to be ignore that there were people that wanted to see her feeling better.

Carver had told her this, softly and delicately, to avoid her misinterpreting the wrong thing after dinner. She had made a habit of going outside to lose her thoughts in the night sky after every meal, and he doubted that she made it to her bed sometimes.

_"You know, we're here for you if you ever want to talk our ears off. That's why we got two. You wear out one; you still got another one."_

All she did was a nod and the next day after that, she took all her meals to her room.

Now he was determined.

She was purposely turning into a recluse. He hoped this funk would pass soon. He did miss the confused looks she gave him when he spouted something Earth-related that she didn't understand. She was his confused little Martian, and he got a kick out of it.

Out of all of them, though, Bao seemed to be the most concerned. He had told them at dinner once, Norah tucked in her room like a hermit, that she as beginning to space out during the Kahn's meal.

Carver could imagine. It couldn't be easy to serve the person that put a gun in your face. Bao also said that while Black wasn't as rude to her anymore, but he still treated her like she was a run-of-the-mill servant. Carver scoffed. The asshole couldn't stop being a dick for once in his life.

It also didn't help that Ferra was beginning to be mean to her. According to Bao, it was unprovoked, and Carver could imagine it wasn't helping Norah's mood either.

Apparently, the little psychopath had been the only one that seemed to enjoy Norah being there. Then one day, she flipped a switch. From what Bao had told him, it reminded him of something familiar.

Once upon a time, back in Hawaii, there was a 7 year old girl, Olivia, that had strolled into the beauty salon with her mother. Carver was a teenager at the time, and he knew how boring the salon could be— he grew up there. After they had worn out the Disney movies, and with no interest in soap operas or Turner Classic Movies, he decided to help her collect sea glass for her dolls. Olivia loved coming to the salon just to see him, and she became the Lilo to his Stitch.

Unfortunately, it backfired on him when she had developed something of a crush on him after a while. When she realized that he didn't return the feeling, she got mad at him. She treated him like dirt — and even threw dirt at him at one point — but eventually, she gave him permission to collect sea glass with her again like nothing had ever happened.

Now, he doubted Ferra had a crush on Norah— that would be really weird— but from what Bao had said, it was obvious that Ferra liked her and Carver knew that it had something to do with the bread.

Also, from what Norah had told them about meeting Torr, she had said the right thing. Carver didn't think Ferra was one just to open up to anyone, and when she took a liking to Norah, it probably confused the homicidal hobgoblin. Carver could tell that Ferra was trying to distance herself by being mean, just like the Olivia had done to him. However, Ferra picked the worst time to do so.

Norah didn't realize it, perhaps it was her curse to be so obtuse, but when she didn't have a scowl on her face, she was approachable. She was pretty — now that she didn't look like a hairy train-wreck anymore— and she was kind unless given a reason not to be. The only problem with all of this was that Norah was a massive introvert. Even more so now.

They all hated seeing her so down-in-the-dumps and he decided to make one last effort. There was only one book that made him feel better, perhaps it was nostalgia, but every time he needed to smile, it helped. He wasn't quite sure if Norah would even be able to read it. Sure there was a common tongue here in Outworld, however, he wasn't sure if she could _understand_ English.

Carver knocked on her door and waited, the worn paperback book in his hand and hoped that she would answer the door. He honestly didn't expect her to but smiled when she did.

"What is it Carver?" she asked somewhat haggardly.

"I was checking up on you," the male cook said as he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. She gave him a blank face, and he decided just to jump to the conclusion.

"I got something for you. Just a loan so I want it returned, but I think you would like it," he told her as he handed the book to her. She hesitated for a moment, unsure whether she wanted to take it but did it anyway. She looked at it like he had given her alien technology from Mars; curious but apprehensive. When she began to paw through the pages with a frown, Carver started to feel this may not have been the best idea.

Norah stopped on a couple of pages, and he saw her brows bridge together, trying to decipher what was on the page and he sighed in disappointment. It didn't look like she could read it.

"I'm sorry, Norah. I'm an idiot," he said and reached for the book. "I just figured we speak the same language, hey we can probably read it too! Ugh, I'm a jerk. Forget I was here—"

For the first time, he saw Norah crack a smile, and it threw him off for a moment until he saw her eyes flickering over the words on the page. She squinted at some parts, but Carver still felt a reassuring grin pull it's way onto his face.

"Oh, I guess English is universal? Or cross-dimensional?" Carver asked diffidently.

Norah looked at him and shook his head, "The tongue is but the letters are far different. My mother had books from Earthrealm, and they forced me to learn it as well in case we returned there. It is has been some time, though."

"Oh, ok. Gotcha," Carver replied with an understandable shrug. "Anyway, you looked like you could use some cheering up. It always does for me. I could sing the _'Just Keep Swimming'_ song, but I figured that would go over your head."

Norah raised a confused eyebrow at him. Yeah, she had no idea what _Finding Nemo_ was. Go figure.

"Anyway... hope you like it," Carver said before he turned to leave her. He didn't hear her say _'thank you'_ but he didn't need to hear it. The small smile she had on her face reading the book was all he needed.

"Carver..."

He stopped in his tracks and turned to look over his shoulder. Carver hesitated when he saw her face. For the first time in a month, she didn't seem guarded and looked at him with gratefulness that made him feel much better about coming to bug her. She looked at the book in her hands and sighed.

"Can I borrow your ear?" she asked him, her tone soft and unsure.

He smiled at that, referring to what he had told her before that he was willing to listen if she needed to.

The chef nodded his head with playful annoyance, "Alright, but I want it back by morning. I need to hear Bert groan every time I tell him something stupid."

Norah smiled softly at his joke. A thought suddenly occurred to him; he knew that she probably would want privacy and given the fact she looked at the stars more than Neil deGrasse Tyson, he knew the perfect spot.

He snapped his fingers and walked toward her, "I know a good place to talk in private. It's even got stars."

Norah ducked into her room for a moment to place the book on her cot, before she locked her door and followed behind him. She walked with him in silence through the corridors and as they got closer to the more common areas of the palace, he was glad to see that there wasn't anyone out and about. It was late at night and usually the only ones that were awake at this time were the nightly guards.

Carver had been in the palace for years, but the architecture was always something to marvel at. Bert and he always argued about the comparisons, whether it was Roman or Middle-Eastern architecture, but he could always tell that they were both correct.

They had stolen the grand arched doorways, pillars, the torches on the walls and hallways of Julius Caesar's Palace for the interior but the exterior was Arabian nights. It was hard to argue with the domed architecture of the main building and spires.

Carver also could detect some European structure as well with the merlons along the stone walkways by the curtain walls of the palace and the keeps. Well, whatever inspiration, it always gave Bert and Carver hours of debate to pass the time. It was melded in such a way with each other that they still never came to the same conclusion. His one complaint, though, he was getting tired of seeing cobra headed statues around all the red stone pillars. Now he knew how Indiana Jones felt...

The both of them passed down a hallway that stood adjacent to a long balcony that stretched as far as the corridor did, and he could already feel the chill of the night air. The guards noticed them but didn't say anything; he often came to the roof to think, and they were familiar with his face. However, he didn't like the looks they gave to Norah as they passed. She was still in her purple uniform, and he could tell that Norah seemed oblivious to the way they were looking at her.

Carver knew that she was getting annoyed by having to be escorted everywhere. He saw the eye-rolling when she thought they weren't looking, but he was beginning to think that Norah didn't have any idea how female slaves were treated in the palace. When he first came to Outworld, he was shocked as well but he still reluctantly understood it was the way of such an archaic setting. It bothered him but now he was numb to it; he was still unsure he liked that he was or not. He figured that being a native, she would know as well. He wasn't quite sure if she was ignorant of it or used it, but it worried him.

He tried to push it to the back of his mind for now when they reached the door he was looking for. Carver opened it first, closed it behind them and caught up with Norah on the winding stone staircase that went up. The staircase was dark but had a torch every turn. Eventually, they came to the top of the staircase to meet another door. Norah looked behind her at him, almost as if for permission to go through it and he nodded.

She opened it and Carver smiled when her eyes went immediately to the sky as she stepped on the wide, stone parapet walkway. He laughed softly under his breath. She certainly was a stargazer if he ever saw one.

The walkway was empty which was only one of the highlights of it. The main reason he brought her to it was because of the open view of the sky above and the view of the main training courtyard below. They were still inside the palace, and the outer walls were heavily guarded at night, leaving this one ignored. They but they could still people watch without being suspicious, and nobody came up here unless needed.

Norah sat on the ledge on the inside of the stone merlons and leaned against the inside edge of it as Carver did the opposite. They sat across from each other for a while, Carver letting her collect her thoughts until she was ready.

For a while, she just sat there, staring at the stars as if they had the answer she was seeking. Carver noticed she smiled at them, and it reminded him of a kid with his first telescope.

"You should see Earthrealm's sky," Carver said, "We have some kickass constellations. My favorite was always Orion's Belt cause it was only three dots. You Outworlder's have any constellations or is it like the Lion King, where it's the Kahn's of the past looking down on you. If it is, I don't know how I feel with Shao Kahn looking at me."

Norah smiled at his joke even if she didn't get the reference. "If there are constellations I would not be able to tell you any of them."

"So you just like to look at the pretty dots and wish you were somewhere else?" Carver asked with a humorous smirk, even though it was a prodding question he was asking subtly.

"Something like that," Norah answered with a small frown. She sighed again, and Carver noticed her gaze fall to the hands that she was twisting around each other nervously. It was obvious she wanted to ask him something.

"You can tell me what it is. That's what I'm here for," Carver pressed with a reassuring tone, "Just give me a nickel and the doctor is in."

She bit her lip in thought, and as the minutes dragged on, he began to think that she was going to bottle it up and not tell him after all. Thankfully, she surprised him.

"Why are you all so kind to me? I feel as if I do not deserve any of it. I am no one," she asked with a melancholy tone.

Well, at least she came out with it, and he didn't have to dig for it. However, when he heard the question, he raised a doubtful eyebrow at her. Carver knew there was more hiding under that simple and pessimistic question than she was letting on. At least it was a start.

"You know you're full of crap right?"

Norah shot him a surprised but offended look, and he clarified before she felt the need to yell at him. "You're not a nobody and you _do_ deserve our kindness. Why would you think that?"

Carver watched as she picked at the fabric of her dress, lost in remorseful thought. She looked at him carefully, wondering if she could confide in him or not and he tilted his head in her direction; giving her a pointed look that she could trust him.

"I have always felt as if I do not belong anywhere because of how I look like an Earthrealmer, perhaps more so now since I am here. I want to know, why is it that you all care for me so much? Because I do look like one?"

Carver thought it over and shrugged at how quickly the answer came, "Its got nothing to do with your looks. You made Bert laugh on the first day, so you won him over after that. I'll admit I had to warm up to you because of how moody you were. Bao seems to like everyone that isn't Mommy Dearest, and you haven't done anything to Abigail to make her hate you."

She looked at him with a frown, somewhat unconvinced by his uncomplicated explanation.

"Not to use Earthrealm lingo that you don't get, but it's because you are our new addition to our Island of Misfit Toys. Personally, I think you're the Charlie-in-the-Box because you complain so much. You fit with us because nobody wants us. Except other misfits."

Norah's face scrunched as if she felt stupid that Carver's answer hadn't been visible to her. Carver could read the emotion she had on her sleeve, and he started to piece together what was happening.

"It is obvious you are freaking out. It's not sinking in with you yet, and you're still fighting being here. What you told me that happened to you was entirely unfair, and you have no other way to cope with it besides shutting us out," Carver told her. "You've constantly been getting a bum deal and I know it was eating at you before that douchebag cowboy paid you that visit and made it worse."

Carver rubbed the back of his neck and sighed regrettably, hoping to avoid this topic, but he had to bring it up.

"I want to ask something that I gotta know, Norah," Carver sighed, scratching the back of his neck nervously. This was a very sensitive topic, and he was afraid of what the answer would be.

Norah looked at him with a wary expression and he continued.

"The way you were asking Black to pull the trigger... was it because deep down you _wanted_ him to?" Carver asked with a somber grimace.

He studied her face intently and when he saw the way her face fell into thought. Immediately he regretted that he even asked when she shot him a stony look for even suggesting it. Perhaps he had gotten a little too carried away since by her offended look alone, he had touched a nerve. Maybe he had imagined things.

He had been in her shoes a long time ago before he got the job in the kitchen. Perhaps he was misinterpreting the red flag he thought he saw when he saw the way she had looked at Black; as if secretly hoping that he would do the dirty work for her. Guess he had been wrong, and he was going to need to do some major back peddling now.

Norah looked at him, her eyes narrowed angrily despite her heartbroken expression. "Why would you think that..."

Carver held up his hands in defense, "I ain't gonna tell you're wrong for hating Black. However, don't kid yourself and think that nobody here doesn't care about you. You are going through a rough patch; I get it. I'm sorry for even thinking it. I'm a dick."

Norah mulled over his apology and nodded her head, accepting it even though she still had the solemn look on her face. He needed to get off this topic; now it was making him feel like horseshit.

"I think you need to accept that you are here, even if you don't want to be and work towards finding your silver lining," Carver told her with a sigh. "I was going through the same thing you were when I came to Outworld. Unlike Bert, I didn't want to come here but it was the easy way out. Word of advice, Norah, don't ever look for the easy way out. It is never worth it and I miss my home every day because of it."

Carver noticed her looking at him with sympathy, and he shook his head at her, trying to tell her to not to worry about it.

"You'll get over it too. Cheer up, Charlie," Carver said with a weak, hopeful grin.

Norah nodded her head, trying her best to sink in his words. The cook felt satisfied that she was listening to him instead of brushing him off like he had somewhat expected her to. It was humility from her that he hadn't thought she would allow to penetrate the walls of her stubbornness.

They both heard movement below, and they looked down to see none other than Clint Eastwood and the Ghost of Christmas Future walking down below. They stopped in the middle of the courtyard, looking as if they disagreed about something and Carver smiled. He had an idea that he knew would make Norah happy and annoy the shit out of Erron Black at the same time. He just hoped he didn't get shot for doing it.

"You ever try and kill someone with kindness?" Carver asked her, a trouble-making smile on his face.

She gave him a very perplexed expression; as if he told her he saw Kotal Kahn wearing a tutu once. Carver rolled his eyes at her expression, jumped from the merlon and whistled a couple of notes from _'The Good, the Bad and the Ugly_ ' theme.

He ducked behind the stone when Ermac and Erron Black looked in their direction, and Norah shot Carver a startled and angry look that he drew their attention to her.

"Wave at him," Carver whispered to her.

He might as well asked her to go punch Ermac in the jaw when he saw the horrified look on her face.

"What?!"

"Wave goodbye and smile at him," Carver told her, a grin on his face. "Trust me."

Norah looked between him and the ground below at Black, completely appalled that he wanted her to do it. Hesitantly, and surprisingly she lifted her hand and gave a slow, pitiful wave. It was very hard not to laugh at the excruciatingly fake and awkward smile on her face as her eyes darted from Carver and Black.

"I've seen Miss America contestants fake better smiles than that," Carver told her blatantly, "C'mon really sell it."

Her eyes darted to him for a brief moment to glare at him for pestering her to keep it up. He smiled when she relaxed her face more and gave a far more genuine smile in Black direction.

After a moment, she stopped waving and looked at Carver. He peeked over the side of the stone ledge to see Erron Black storming off angrily, and Ermac raising a mummified eyebrow in their direction before disregarding them and floating to catch up with Black.

Carver laughed when he saw Norah's displeased look; evidently waiting for him to explain.

"What was the purpose of all that?" Norah huffed.

"That was killing someone with kindness," Carver explained, "Notice how he didn't like it when you were nice to him? You're telling him to fuck off without actually saying it. Just be careful how you choose when to use it. I got a lot of swirleys in High School because I pushed my luck. Use it sparingly though and it's better than watching him bob for fries in a deep fryer."

"You _Earthrealmers_ sure do have strange ways of dealing with matters," Norah jested, her eyes lit with amusement even though she shook her head.

"Hey, watch it _Outworlder_. I'll cut you, hoe," Carver shot playfully back as he pretended to take out imaginary earrings off of each ear. Norah laughed at him even if she didn't understand it; just his feminine pantomiming alone was enough to get her to smile.

The smile stayed on her face and for the first time, he saw her old self again. Even if it didn't get rid of all her problems, he could see that he had had made her feel better. He could see that she was still apprehensive about the future but hey, who wasn't.

"Thank you for listening, Carver," said with an appreciative smile and her gratitude warmed him.

"I could tell you needed it. Sometimes you need a second opinion besides the little voice in your head," Carver nodded. "By the way, if the voice in your head tells you to start setting small fires that's a bad sign. That's how serial killers are born. Speaking of serial killers, how are things with the little psycho dwarf, Ferra?"

_Wow. Nice transition Carver. I should have done infomercials._

It was a point he also wanted to help Norah with while he still had the thought running through his mind. He also knew it would also help her mood if she got the thoughts of the white-haired monkey off her back.

"I am not sure what I have done to wrong her," Norah sighed. "I thought I was friendly with her."

"Bake her muffins," Caver offered with a humorous grin. Norah raised an eyebrow at him that Carver shrugged at. "Even the kids from the _Children of the Corn_ like muffins."

"What are muffins?" Norah asked, her eyebrows bridged in confusion at the word.

Carver let out an over-the-top groan and rolled his eyes.

_She was a baker! How can she never of heard of muffins?_

"How can you not of sampled something as delicious as muffins? Lemon, poppyseed— fucking blueberry muffins?! So good!"

She blinked blankly at him.

"You make me sad," Carver waved it off and clarified. "Just give her a peace offering. Kill her with kindness like with Black, you might be surprised."

"I will try I suppose," Norah relented with a simple nod.

Carver gave a satisfactory smile in her direction and after that they started to head back to their room. The cook would glance at her every so often and he could tell that she was lost in thought. He could tell that his words that were bouncing around in her stubborn noggin' were not self-loathing, but contemplative of what he had told her.

It had been his objective in the long run: to give her something else to think about and other goals to focus on. He had only wanted it to do it with the book, but he was delighted that she had been willing to open up to him.

The next day thrilled him more when she removed herself from the dark, depressing cave of her room and had dinner with them in the kitchen once again.

* * *

_The Golden Desert  
Three Days Later..._

Rain watched with cold intolerance as one of the Tarkatan's dragged the mother of the boy that had vanished from her hut by her hair and brought her to kneel in front of him. The purple-clad Edenian crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at the frightened mother with a displeased disposition.

His patience for the village had reached its end, more so after what he had word that Kotal Khan's enforcers were on their way with a small group of Osh-Tekk guards. It didn't take the Edenian Prince much effort to discover why they were on their way to the pitiful village, and after doing a head count he knew the culprit that had let word slipped.

Rain had been adamant about taking the village and like he had expected, it was a move that been in a benefit for both Tanya and himself. Even if she had complained it had been a risky move.

He knew what he was doing, and it had been child's play for both of the experienced warriors. Rain knew leaving the cave all threats would have to be neutralized first. With the cover of darkness, Tanya and Rain killed the remaining men in the village.

They did not have to worry about any returning soon since most of them had traveled north to provide short, but prosperous labor and help reap the harvest at its highest turnout. After discovering this, and knowing full well were the multitude of the crops would be heading once completed, Rain finally had the plan he had been searching for.

After all the potential threats had been eliminated, they made sure there would be no other trouble from the others by holding their elders hostage. It took a week for Rain to return with a force of Tarkatans, after he persuaded them with his plan to join them, while Tanya held control over the village.

After they had showed, they had complete control and didn't need the hostages any longer. It was a small group, but it was enough for the remaining women and children not to dare oppose them.

Rain was somewhat surprised by the eagerness of the Tarkatan commander after Rain had informed him of what he had in mind. Despite animosity towards each other, he agreed that his plan was solid and, therefore, gave them their allegiance.

He knew it wouldn't have been difficult to convince them; they were simple-minded, but he needed their brute force when the time came for it. His pride had been at its highest in a long time, and he could not wait to see his brilliant plan finally come to fruition.

The Hydromancer had sent Tanya and the Tarkatan Commander to go oversee the other half of the plan while he remained in the village with the small force until it was time to move to his objective.

It came a couple of days to soon however and he scowled at the stupidity of the Tarkatans that could not handle something as simple as crowd control.

He had found himself doing almost everything due to the half-breeds incompetence. Rain even had to go as far as poisoning the water supply of the village to gain control after a somewhat brief mutiny. Rain translated a blunt message to the village by dumping the conspirators down the well, and it was heard clearly. After they had taken what they needed for the Tarkatans and himself, he decided when the villagers could have a drink and what came from opposition against his command.

However, they still rebelled, and that angered him greatly. No more would he show leniency to this pathetic little village that did not appreciate his authority.

Rain grabbed the woman by the top of her hair, earning a yelp of pain as he flaunted her in front of the village square in front of the already fouled well. She whimpered pathetically in his grasp, and it did nothing but anger him further.

Instead of being the village's life source, it now served as a mausoleum that she would soon join. He grabbed her by the throat, earning the strangled, panicked cry of pain he had wanted for elicit from her. The prince choked the life from her as the other women in the village cringed helplessly from the position on their knees with the Tarkatans nearby watching.

Her face turned a shade a purple, almost the same color of his attire and he smirked darkly at it, "Your son may have been fortunate enough to see the city, but it will be a luxury you will not share."

The mother of the boy was unresponsive—dead— and with a slight shove, he pushed her body down the well. He grinned when he heard the splash echo against the well walls. The women let out horrified gasps while the children cried under the protection of their crushing and protective hold. It earned no sympathy from him— they had disobeyed him. They would not receive his mercy.

He knew the human mercenary and Shao Kahn's old experiment would be arriving soon, and if his plan was to succeed, it was imperative that he made his escape now. A dark grin pulled at the corner of his mouth from behind his face mask as he turned to the Tarkatan leader of the small group.

"Kill the rest for Kotal Kahn's dogs to find," Rain commanded. "Then kill _them_."

He nodded with an enthusiastic and hideous smile and without a second to waste, he barked his orders to other soldiers. Rain raised his hand to the sky, teleporting away from the scene and to his next step. As the massive geyser of water came up, it barely blocked out the terrified screaming from the villagers that were slaughtered.

His feet touched the sand far from the village, his black boots sinking into the ground as water coated it as well. He looked at his surroundings and gave a toothy smile from behind his face mask saw the domed palace in the distance.

Soon, it would all be his.

* * *

The village wasn't that far from Z'unkahrah, merely a couple of days walk for them on their mounts, but apparently it was far enough away for them to get there at the last minute.

_Damn._

Didn't look like he was going to get paid after all.

Ermac and Erron gave each other a glance as they entered the middle of the village and saw the bodies that littered the area. They entered the square and Black frowned at the bodies of the women and children that hadn't even begun baking in the sun yet. The ground was freshly coated in blood, and there were still a few that were choking on the last bit of life within them before joining the others.

The Kahn's guards didn't need to voice who they thought had done this, they both could tell from the stab wounds that Tarkatans had been here.

Ermac turned towards the Osh-Tekk warriors that had accompanied them on their trek through the desert and than back to him. The construct gave him a deadpan expression but he could sense what the mystic was communicating silently to him,

Black agreed with him. "They must of saw us comin'," Black speculated, a glower forming behind his face-mask.

Erron looked at the fresh appearance of the dead bodies with a dirty look of discontent. Pretty pointless to slaughter women and children. It was a clearly a message, something undesirable for them to find to taunt that they had just missed the Edenians.

"We can probably still pick up on their trail," the bounty hunter suggested, eyeballing the mountain formation in the distance with a hard stare.

Black noticed that Ermac's eyes panned around the area, a tense and ready expression that Erron could see under his bandage-wrapped face. Erron knew that look, and he brought out his other revolver from his holster.

"There are still here. We sense them," Ermac informed him, his hand starting to glow brightly in anticipation of a fight.

Black signaled to the other Osh-Tekk warriors, and they held their spears ready, all five of them looking around at the stone buildings in the square.

Erron cocked the revolver he held in his right hand and felt a smirk tug its way on his face behind his mask. His kohl stained eyes scanning the dark open doorways of the stone houses for any movement.

He knew it had been too damn quiet when they had pulled up. He doubted that Rain and Tanya were still hanging around, but he knew he would have used the Tarkatans as fodder for them to escape.

The gunman wanted to get paid and didn't appreciate having his time wasted.

Black caught the sight of Ermac raising his hand in the direction of the broken, stone well in the center of the sand square and lifted the surprised and struggling Tarkatan that had been hiding in it.

He snarled at Ermac as he lifted him high in the sky against his will before Ermac threw him against the stone wall of one of the houses. The Tarkatan's neck broke instantly from the impact, cracking the wall in the process and convincing the other Tarkatans hiding nearby to engage.

Black raised his cocked revolver as one charged for him, its arms blades extended and smiled when his bullet exploded inside his head.

The other Tarkatans charged from them, forming a circle around all of them as they sprung from the houses. There were more than Erron had thought there would be and it looked like it was going to be far more interesting than when he took out the small band with Reptile.

At least this time they had even numbers to match.

Erron raised his foot, planting it squarely in the chest of the Tarkatan who let out a pained groan, as he stumbled back with a hand to his chest. Black fired at his kneecap, lowering the Tarkatan to his other leg and fired at his head.

Another charged him and Erron dived forward with his feet first, sliding his back on the ground and tripping the Tarkatan. As soon as the rebel's back hit the ground, Black flipped over and shot him in the head. The ground exploded in a mixture of sand and blood as he jumped to his feet and fired a couple of rounds into the gut of another that tried to sneak from behind.

The Tarkatan buckled from the gunshots before he fell forward to the ground with a thud. The gunslinger ducked when another swiped at his head, barely missing his hat, and he took the opportunity to sweep low and knock the Tarkatan on his back. He pressed his revolver into his forehead and fired, coating both of them in blood.

He heard Ermac groan in surprise, and he looked up to see one of the Tarkatans had jumped from the top of one of the houses and had grabbed him, bringing both of them to the ground.

Erron cocked and aimed his revolver at the Tarkatan's head, preparing to assist when he felt a hard, muscled body barrel into him from the side.

Black groaned in pain when his back collided with the outside wall of the well, cracking the stone before he barely managed to move out of the way when an arm blade stuck next to his face in the wall. Black glared at the Tarkatan that roared in frustration, unable to free his arm from the wall.

Erron smirked from behind his mask, "Need a hand?"

Black brought up his foot, breaking the Tarkatan's nose and wedging his arm from the well wall from the force of the blow. He stumbled back, clutching his bleeding face and Erron finished him off by pumping the hammer back with his free hand and firing off a couple of bullets.

Erron looked around to see if any more were nearby and when he saw them preoccupied at the moment, he took the opportunity to reload his guns.

As soon as his revolvers clicked he saw something sail towards him, and he frowned heavily when he noticed it was Ermac throwing another rebel Tarkatan in his direction accidently. Black shot the Tarkatan sailing through the air like a clay pigeon, killing him before he hit the ground.

It had distracted Black for just enough time for another Tarkatan to grab the mercenary from behind in a chokehold. The Kahn's guard struggled, throwing back his elbow and delivering blow after blow to the Tarkatan's ribs from behind. The Tarkatan howled in pain and before Erron could free himself from his hold, the Tarkatan used the advantage of the well nearby and sailed him over the side.

He wasn't getting off that easily, and Erron managed to hold on to his arm and bring him down into the deep well with him. Erron felt himself hit something that wasn't stone when he entered the water, and he knew it wasn't the Tarkatan he had brought down with him.

He felt his boots touch the bottom, and he pressed his feet against the floor to propel himself to the surface. He gasped for air and cursed when the face mask he wore repelled water back into his mouth, blocking any escape. Black paddled above the surface, looking for the other occupant in the well.

When Erron found out what it was he hit going into the water, his eyes widened in alarm.

There were dead bodies in the well.

The water was poison.

He heard the Tarkatan behind him and before he could look over his shoulder, he pulled him under and used him to float over the water's surface while attempting to drown him at the same time.

Black fought under the water, trying to break the hold he had on him while also fighting not to swallow any water in the process. Erron grabbed the arm around his neck, twisted it painfully and he could hear the muffled cry of pain from the water's surface above him.

He brought his foot against the opposite wall and with all his strength pushed the Tarkatan back into the wall. His grip slacked and provided Erron with his chance to push himself back up. Erron's fist came up first and punched the dazed Tarkatan brutally in the face, breaking several jagged and sharp teeth.

He floundered but reached out for Erron's neck. His hands went for the wrist of the crushing grip around his neck. The gunslinger started to panic when a combination of the water still trapped behind his mask and the hands on his throat began to suffocate him. He had lost his revolvers and hat when he went into the well, and he knew there was no way to reach for the rifle without giving his opponent the advantage.

It would come down to knuckles.

Erron laid hook after hook across the Tarkatan's face and each time he was granted the satisfaction of a roar of pain from his attacker. As soon as he started to feel his hands loosen, Black returned the favor of what he had tried to do to him before— drown him.

Erron quickly moved and latched on to him from the back. Using his forearm, he placed him in a chokehold and dunked his head under the water. He thrashed viciously underneath him, and Erron did his best to avoid the arm blades the retracted and detracted, failing to hit his target in panic.

Placing his back against the wall and wrapping his calves around the chest of the Tarkatan under the water, used the advantage he had and snapped his neck under the water.

Black breathed out a sigh of relief and let the dead Tarkatan float away from him, joining with the rest of the bodies in the well. Erron reached for the straps of his mask quickly, still feeling water logged behind his mask and as soon as removed it, spat the mouthful that had unintentionally entered his mouth.

Erron wiped his mouth, grimacing that he knew he had swallowed some of it when he had been submerged earlier.

He could hear the fight dwindling up above him, and he frowned when he realized that Ermac was having all the fun without him. He saw another Tarkatan sail over his head, passing by the well wrapped in a green glow and heard the bone shattering crunch as his body broke above.

Ermac dangled another over the ledge of the well as the Tarkatan thrashed his arms wildly in fear. Ermac dropped his weight on his head on the ledge of the well, earning a bone shattering snap and sending his neck into an unnatural angle.

"Shit," Erron cursed when the body came falling down the well. It splashed hard when it hit the water, and the cowboy threw a miffed look up at the sky, intended for Ermac as he wiped the water from his face.

"Watch it!"

He knew his fellow guard probably heard him even if he couldn't see him and he grumbled as he continued to tread water, waiting for Ermac to finish and lift him out of the well.

Erron decided to occupy himself and look around for his guns. He looked down and could make out the metallic haze in the shape of his revolvers lying at the bottom while his hat bobbed like an apple on the surface nearby. His guns were his first priority, and he rolled his eyes, held his breath and dived under for them; regretting entering the foul water once again. He closed his eyes under the water and felt around blindly for them, his hand patting across the surface of the bottom.

He had managed to grab them when he felt something pull him up and out of the water.

He placed his guns back in his holsters when he saw the ethereal green glow of Ermac's telekinetic power lift him from the well and place him back on dry land.

Erron looked around and grinned at the broken and mangled bodies of the Tarkatan force that Ermac and the other Osh-Tekk warriors had killed, the latter reduced to 2 that breathed heavily from exertion.

"Well, now they're outta the way," Erron said, wiping the water from his face with a hand. "Let's see if we can pick up on their trail. I don't think they're stupid enough to head to the city. I'd say the cliffs would be the best bet."

"They will be easy to find," Ermac commented in passive agreement.

Erron paused for a moment, felt as if something was missing and reached for his head. He frowned when he felt his wet hair under his palm and jerked his thumb in the direction of the well.

"Can you get me my hat while you're at it?"

If Ermac had a sense of humor, he was sure he would have rolled his eyes at him. Instead, with a deadpan expression, he looked at the well and raised a glowing green hand. Moments later, his hat lifted from the well, dripping wet. Ermac floated it over to him, almost with a bored expression and Black grabbed it from the invisible grip. He nodded his thanks that Ermac didn't acknowledge.

Erron slapped his hat against his wet pant leg, trying to dry it before he shot a wary glance towards the well once more before they went to their large saber-tooth-feline mounts.

* * *

_Z'unkahrah_   
_1 Day Later..._

Ferra could hear Torr grunting at her from her hammock, but she stuck her tongue out at him. She didn't want to come down.

Torr could sense this, and she rolled over to give her his back. He roared in response, and she felt the tree vibrate as a few leaves fell on her. She looked over her shoulder to see Torr leaning his back against the base of the tree, and she huffed; he was also giving her his back.

Ferra blew the leaf that had landed on the side of her face with the corner of her mouth. She was bored. Big Bossy had no jobs for them to do, and Torr was mad that they had not left the yard to go play. However, it wasn't what was bothering her.

Ferra wanted to hurt Bread-Lady.

She confused Ferra and made her think strange things. Nobody was nice to Ferra/Torr. Why Bread-Lady so nice? Torr liked Bread-Lady too, and Ferra also didn't like that. Torr was only supposed to like Ferra and Ferra only supposed to like Torr. Nobody wanted to be Ferra/Torr friend. They fighters. Bread-Lady was supposed to be scared of them. Bread-Lady wasn't. She wanted to make sure that her bread was good for them to eat. Bread-Lady cared what they liked. Ferra hated Bread-Lady!

Why Bread-Lady so nice to Ferra?

Why Bread-Lady make good bread for them?

Why Torr like Bread-Lady?

_Why?!_

Ferra grabbed the pillow that was behind her head and put her face into it. She hated all these stupid, confusing questions...

She heard someone knock-knock at the door, and Ferra shot up from her hammock while Torr also looked at the door as well.

"What want?" she shouted impatiently, her eyes narrowed. Torr roared at the door too, knowing that Ferra didn't want to be bothered.

"I have your food here for the both of you."

_Bread-Lady!_

Ferra jumped from the hammock, landed on Torr's shoulders and bounced to the ground. She ran up to the door, her arm blades out and scowled hard at Bread-Lady even if she couldn't see her.

"Ferra no want!" she yelled, her fists tight. Ferra looked back and saw Torr still sitting by the tree quietly, looking at her as if she was a big meany and she bared her teeth and glared at the door again.

"Bread-Lady go or get eyes carved out!"

She heard Bread-Lady sigh on the other side of the door, "Alright... I will leave. I will put your food on the outside of the door. Good-night Ferra... good-night Torr."

Ferra heard her put something down, and Ferra nodded sharply in approval when she heard her leave. She put her arm blades back and walked over to Torr, who still sat at the tree, looking at her.

"Bread-Lady no friend to Ferra/Torr," she explained.

Torr breathed heavily, unsure whether she was right or not but agreed anyway. Ferra heard Torr's stomach growling, and she crossed her arms over her chest. They would not take Bread-Lady's food.

She heard Torr growl at her, wanting her to go open the door so he could eat.

"I say no Torr!"

Torr roared at her, banging his hands against the stone by his sides. After she regained her balance from the ground shaking, Ferra pointed a finger at him.

"You no tell Ferra what do!"

Torr stood up and stomped over to the door, ignoring her as she chased after him. "Torr!"

He ignored her and with little effort, ripped the door from its hinges, threw it aside and picked up his bucket. Ferra narrowed her eyes at him, "Torr! You broke 'nother door! Big Bossy gonna be mad at you!"

He stormed past her, and Ferra noticed that he stopped when he saw the bucket. Ferra's face softened; a confused look on her face. "What in bucket Torr?"

He turned around, walked over and gave her the bucket. Torr's bread was there, but there was more in the bucket. Little dark lumps all over the bucket. Ferra looked at them suspiciously. What were these things?

She picked one up, the texture bumpy in her fingers, brought it to her nose and sniffed it. It smelled like fruit; it smelled sweet and Ferra liked it. She bit into it and her eyes widened.

It tasted good. Really good! It was sweet and tart all at the same time and she stuffed the rest in her mouth. With her mouth full, she gave the bucket back to Torr and ran over to the door. There were dark lumps by her food too as well as the sweet bread Ferra liked.

Ferra grabbed her tray and popped more of the sweet lumps in her mouth. With her mouth stuffed, making it difficult to chew she looked down the hallway and felt bad.

_Bread-Lady made them sweets._

_Bread-Lady made them good bread._

_Bread-Lady was nice._

Ferra frowned, an angry sigh leaving her when she saw Torr eating his food.

_Ferra was big meany._

* * *

Norah knew that Bert or Carver would have disagreed with her wandering around the palace at night by herself, so she never told them that she often came to the walkway at night after dinner.

She knew the dangers even if they thought she didn't. She was from Outworld after all, and she was well aware of the sexual behaviors of men, even if she had never done the act itself. Norah knew the risks of the palace, and they were worth taking to come back to the place the Carver had showed her.

She loved this spot. It was secluded and provided a much better view than hiding in the yard behind the kitchen. There weren't any guards nearby, although she knew of the one that stood outside the door at the opposite end at times.

He never threw lewd stares her way, and she never worried about him, but it still didn't mean that she didn't take precautions. She reverted to her old habit of carrying a knife with her like she had done before Black brought her to the palace. It always provided a sense of security for her even if she didn't know how to wield it properly. Nonetheless, she kept it and would use it if needed; with or without an escort.

Speaking of old habits, she was well aware that she was stepping back into her reclusiveness once more, but unlike before it did not bother her as much. Norah had always sought out her company instead of others and had been fine with it. However, after Black's visit, it turned against her. With nothing but her thoughts to occupy her, they began to poison her mood.

Carver had pulled her from the toxicity of her negative thoughts and ever since their talk, she tried her best to take heed of his advice. He was right after all. There was no use in wallowing in what her situation was. If she was going to find even an ember of brightness at all, she would have to be the one to start the fire and remove away the darkness.

To be honest, she found it to be somewhat exhausting to search regularly for the good in such a terrible circumstance, and she had to commend him for having a gift. Kill someone with kindness? What a strangely opposite and enlightened way of turning a situation to your advantage. She decided to experiment with Ferra first before trying with Erron Black.

Well, they were no muffins but at least Norah could say that she made a valiant attempt. The concept was still new to her, but she had the general idea of how it was supposed to work.

She gave Ferra and Torr a treat, something her mother used to make that required a couple of ingredients and no baking. Just a mushed mixture of fruit and oats that solidified in a few minutes. It was sweet, it was simple and she hoped it worked.

Norah leaned her head back against the stone merlon and yawned. The hour was late, and she should start heading to her cot. At least the one advantage of Erron Black being gone, besides the fact that he was absent, was that there was no need to rise early to bake as much bread. She still had to provide bread for Ferra, Torr and Kotal Kahn but it wasn't as much work.

Choosing to take company with the stars was still robbing her of sleep, so she rose from her spot. Just as she was beginning to head towards the door, it opened, and instantly her hand went to the back of her dress for the kitchen knife she tucked in the fabric.

However, when she saw who it was the came on the other side, she dropped to her knees and bowed her head. The knife was still concealed, and she was glad because she wasn't sure how the Emperor would have felt with her having a knife on her.

He must have been trying to pass through the walkway without being disturbed, and she bit her lip when she saw him raise an eyebrow at her. Despite being in his presence for dinners, she was still unsure how to act around him and she was beginning to feel that bowing in such an obedient manner was too much.

"Do you mock me?" he questioned, his tone more puzzled than offended.

Norah's eyes widened, and she shook her head, "Of course not, my Emperor."

"Then you may stand. Unless you find the position on your knees more comfortable," Kotal Kahn said. His voice was deep and imposing, but she could still detect the small trace of humor that was filtered within. Now she felt utterly ridiculous.

"Yes, Emperor," Norah nodded, rising hesitantly to stand. She kept her eyes down, not daring to look at him and she could feel the weight of his stare even if she couldn't see it.

She knew the difference between Matlal and the Emperor after a few dinners, one of the biggest feelings was how she always felt a sense of dread when he was near. Matlal was a person she never wished to offend due to the obvious brute strength he had, but Kotal Kahn was someone she had certainly never wanted to meet face to face. Other than her gut feeling, the Emperor wearing his headdress and war paint was the biggest clue to who she was talking to.

Norah watched as he stepped forward, his hands clasped together behind his back, and she felt her breath quivering in fear. He gazed at her with an authoritative but unreadable regard. She wondered why he was giving her such a look before she saw one his hands leave from behind his back. Her eyes closed in despair when she felt him pluck the knife sandwiched between the fabric of her dress and her skin from behind her own back.

Trepidation flooded her when he looked it over in his hand with a stern expression, the handle of the knife up and the blade in his hand. She imagined him plunging into her for the small fault of having it. Norah's thoughts were interrupted when she felt the wooden handle placed under her chin, and Kotal Kahn used it gently to bring her eyes to look at his.

"Do you know it is forbidden for slaves to be armed?" he informed, his voice low and ill-boding, "The penalty of which is death?"

Norah's jaw dropped as fright flew through her veins and froze them in unison. She had truly not been aware of such a rule although she understood it's purpose perfectly. It should have been common sense and the baker felt incredibly stupid for not realizing it.

She shook her head briskly at him, unsure whether she was answering his question or just afraid. To be honest, the only thing going through her head at the moment was how dead she would be soon.

Remarkably, she recovered some trace of her voice; although it was quiet and fearful, "F-forgive me, my Emperor... I was ignorant to such a rule..."

"Your ignorance is no excuse," he barked harshly, and she buckled under his response; knowing full well she was to be beheaded now.

"And for that, I know I must die," she gulped in fear, knowing that she was submitting her life in acceptance of her actions.

"Yes. You _should_ be executed," Kotal Kahn replied with a hard nod of agreement at her statement.

He took another step towards her, and she swallowed nervously, her chin only reaching his chest as he towered over her. She lowered her head and waited for the inevitable blow to come for her. Hopefully, he was merciful and granted her a quick death...

She would have never expected his next actions.

Norah was certain she had made an irreversible mistake but when she heard his laughter, she looked up at him with bewilderment. Kotal Kahn's laugh was deep and rumbled so much that Norah could feel it vibrate across her skin. At first she thought it was the Emperor laughing at the sick joy of the situation, but what he said next only confused her more.

"But I also fear that Ferra and I would miss your bread," Kotal Kahn confessed, the side of his mouth pulled up slightly in an amused grin. He chuckled once more and took a step back, allowing her to reclaim the space he had encroached on.

It was if all of time stood still while at the same time she wanted nothing but to throw herself over the ledge. She was aware how she was standing there dumbfounded, her mouth hanging open like a complete imbecile, but she couldn't will herself to think about anything else besides how dead she should have been. When she finally understood he was toying with her, she felt her cheeks grow hot from embarrassment.

"Calm yourself, child," Kotal Kahn told her, his expression relapsing back to the stern demeanor he always wore. "My servant, Matlal has already informed me that you wish no ill against me."

Norah nodded her head in compliance as she tried to relax herself as best as she could. Although, she still felt as if she was in a surreal dream— or nightmare. The thought of breaking her neck on the pavement below was still a persuasive one.

She noticed he still held the knife in his hand as Norah looked up to meet his gaze.

"Why do you carry a weapon?" he asked. Norah looked at him, studying his face. He didn't seem annoyed, angry or happy. His tone was indifferent although curious.

"It is... for my protection," she answered gingerly, and suddenly blinked in panic; remembering her manners. "My Emperor."

"Yes, I can understand," the Kahn said with an informative nod. He cupped her chin gently and even without the sun present, his touch warmed her skin from his residual sun-powers. "A pretty dove can delight the eye, but can also bring it undesired attention."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise at his statement, and she blushed bashfully when he released her chin. Trying her best to bury his words, she attempted to return to the more pressing subject.

"I do apologize profusely," she stammered, "I was genuinely unaware that it was forbidden."

Norah heard him grunt softly, almost as if it was a scoff in a way as he looked her over; as if determining if she was even a credible threat or not.

"You would do well to carry a sharper weapon and choose a less than obvious place to hide it," Kotal Kahn told her after a moment of letting her bubble in her nervousness. She looked at him in awe, her mouth opening, and closing. His words shocked her but finally she managed to ask the question crawling it's way to get out.

"Forgive me, My Emperor, but I must ask you a question," she said, biting her lip nervously.

"Ask your question," he granted with a blasé nod.

"Why... why are you permitting me to have it?" she asked, a heavy cloud of dread hanging over her head when she felt she should have just kept her mouth shut.

"If you believe yourself to be the only female servant to feel compelled to arm themselves, then you are truly as ignorant as you proclaim," he answered, raising an eyebrow at her.

Norah's lip curved up sourly in silent response at her stupidity; feeling truly like a simpleton now.

"Although, they are _first_ granted approval but seldom receive. You are marked, therefore, you have my permission to carry it if you truly feel the need of it," Kotal explained.

His words floored Norah; she had not expected his approval and smiled with gratitude.

"Besides," he began glancing down at the knife in his hand before he placed it in her palm. "I do not believe it was ever intended for myself, but rather for my mercenary, Erron Black."

He lowered his head in her direction minutely; something of a disapproving look like a father would give a misbehaving child. She bowed her head in shame and sighed fearfully again, feeling as if she would also be punished for his speculation.

"Do not think I have not noticed the poisonous glances you cast at him. They continue to be a constant distraction," Kotal Kahn chastised her, his voice carrying a warning. "You would do well to anchor your emotions before I feel the need to have to remove you from your duties.

He paused for a moment and then added, the ghost of a smile on his face: "Erron Black is of no use to me dead."

Norah nodded her head, faltering slightly at his remarks, but could still sense the small bit of humor his words carried. "Yes, Emperor and I apologize. I will desist. Thank you for your benevolence."

Kotal Kahn nodded his head at her answer, accepting it before their attention fixed towards the door on the opposite side of the walkway and a guard rushed over to him.

The guard bowed his head, waiting for permission to speak which the Kahn allowed with a wave of his hand.

"Ermac and Erron Black have returned."

The Kahn said nothing and Norah couldn't help but frown that Erron Black was back sooner than she thought he would have been.

Kotal Kahn regarded her silently, almost as if in satisfaction over their conversation and turned to walk away from her. Norah watched him leave with the guard through the door, and she let a sigh of relief when he vanished.

Norah felt her rear land on the ledge of the merlon, not even realizing that her knees had grown weak from her encounter as she stared at the knife in her hand. The scene still played in her head like a strange hallucination that she couldn't comprehend. Never would she had thought that receiving something as small as permission to carry a knife would leave her feeling as if she sailing amongst stars she constantly looked at.

She certainly knew one thing that was undoubtful.

Norah would never come up to the walkway again.

* * *

Erron was quite surprised that the usually silent commander of ten-thousand souls wanted to do all the talking. Perhaps he was aware that Erron wasn't particularity feeling up to the task to report what had happened to the Kahn, but regardless he was thankful for the small break.

He wasn't particularly worried about the headache he had, he got them quite often— more since the girl came into the palace— and he disregarded it as Ermac informed the Kahn that they had not been able to pick up any trace of Rain or Tanya. Wherever they were, they were long gone.

He felt a charlie-horse in his calf, and he reached down to massage it through the leather boot. The Kahn seemed to notice his movement and looked in his direction briefly before Ermac continued.

After a minute of rubbing it out, he cursed when the cramp migrated up to his thigh, and he copied his ministrations to work it out. Erron knew that swallowing contaminated water was a terrible mistake but he didn't worry about it as much as any regular person should have. Any normal person didn't have the influence of Shang Tsung's magic that both slowed his aging generously and helped his body heal at an accelerated rate. He hardly had a sick day since he made the deal, and he wasn't worried about it now.

But he had seen cholera before and he knew the symptoms he was experiencing were mild at best.

"Your findings are troubling to me," Kotal Kahn murmured, his hands behind his back as he paced. A dark frown settling on his face. "I find the Edenians move aggressive, especially considering he has allied himself with Tarkatans. I find little purpose in his actions."

"Perhaps, he was guided by impulse," Ermac offered.

The Emperor let out an unconvinced _'hmm'_ at Ermac's theory.

"Any word from Reptile?" Black asked, noticing he was nowhere to be seen.

"He has yet to return," Kotal Kahn answered, "I eagerly await word from him as well. However, until we know for certain the possibility of a rebel force mobilizing, there is nothing to do but wait for further word."

Erron and Ermac nodded, understanding and agreeing that there was no reason to chase after nothing.

They would either have to wait for Reptile to return with news or wait for Rain or Tanya to make another move.

* * *

Norah was heading back to her room when she heard the soft pitter-pattering against the stone floors. She had placed her knife in the back of her dress again, just until she could think of a better hiding spot, and felt tentative when she saw Ferra running up to her.

The female symbiote had obviously been looking for her; it was apparent the way she had jumped with recognition when she found her. Norah wasn't sure what to expect, especially after giving her dinner earlier.

She felt confusion dart onto her face at Ferra's reluctant and shy look and Norah could see that she had something behind her back.

"This from we!" she said, handing her a small, blue bag from behind her back. "It Ferra/Torr favorite!"

Norah looked at the bag and back at Ferra with a stunned expression. Ferra was giving her a _gift_? the baker smiled, realizing that her small act of kindness much have reached Ferra after all and took the bag with an appreciative nod.

Ferra shifted from foot to foot and then without another word, she ran off. Leaving Norah holding the bag in her hand with a timid feeling about what was inside it.

With Ferra away, Norah undid the drawstring and opened the bag to see what was inside...

And immediately dropped the bag with a disgusted yelp when she looked in the bag and saw another set of eyeballs staring up at her. She was glad that Ferra was gone. Otherwise she might have offended her with her reaction.

Ferra had given her a pair of eyeballs, and they had been carved out for some time. They were gray and withered, but it was nothing compared to the smell. It reminded her of fish that had laid in the sun for days.

_It Ferra/Torr favorite!_

She was indecisive if she should enjoy that Ferra was no longer mad at her by giving her something personal of hers or repulsed that she had been given eyeballs. Ferra could have given her an old rag, even a centipede, and Norah would have been pleased rather than receiving what was in the bag.

With a squeamish look on her face, she pulled the bag together, trying to avoid the dead stare coming from within and picked it up. As she walked down the corridor, she couldn't help but smile that Carver's method worked. She chuckled at the thought of seeing the look on his face tomorrow when he opened the bag. He was always playing practical jokes on her; it was her chance to return the favor.

Norah was jarred from her thoughts when she turned the corner and ran into a hard-muscled body of an Osh-Tekk guard. After muttering her apology for running into him, she looked up at him and noticed that something was off.

Most of the Osh-Tekk's had tattoos that looked as if they had been carved into their bodies, and while he seemed to have the customary pattern, it looked more like paint than anything. Also, most of the guards were lean but muscular in physique, instead his chest was broad and prominent. The most curious of all of his features, however, were the dark eyes that stared somewhat snobbish at her from underneath the white skull face mask.

Immediately she felt uncomfortable by his presence and attempted move around him. Almost playfully, he blocked her path, and she shot an indignant look at him.

"Let me pass," Norah seethed as politely as she could.

The thought of reaching for her knife dawned on her when he raised an arrogant eyebrow at her and smiled pretentiously; looking as if her threats were nothing to him. His smile sickened her, and she felt it had to do with the pompous way he carried himself.

"Forgive me," he spat, almost chiding the words at her. His eyes landed on her chest, lingered there intentionally to anger her, before he grinned and added. "I was just admiring the color of your dress."

Norah scoffed angrily at his slimy tone and stormed past him, shoving him out of the way with a hard push that barely moved him. She walked as briskly as she could muster, but she was unable to drown out the vile chuckle she could hear behind her.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**   
**Run Though the Jungle**

* * *

Tanya wouldn't be so quick to call Rain smart, but she had to say she was surprised that he managed to formulate a plan that was.

At first, she had been hesitant about whether they could succeed. That was all before the Tarkatan Commander and she had managed to secure control of the caravan that was headed straight to Z'unkahrah. Now she felt strangely content in accepting that they could accomplish their objective. However, that didn't mean she wasn't prepared in case of failure.

Still, the pyromancer smiled smugly as the transport she was sitting in bounced from the movement of passing over the bumpy, equatorial trade road running through the Kuatan Jungle. In the back accompanying her, was the Tarkatan Commander and 7 other Tarkatans holding the son of the carriage driver hostage. Understandably, the driver knew not to draw any attention to the soldiers at the checkpoints they passed—as well as the other drivers in separate carriages they had commandeered.

Capturing hostages had been relatively easy when they arrived at the fields. In fact, there had been only one scaly complication.

Tanya looked down at her feet and smiled at the Zaterran who glared venomously up at her in response to her priggish regard for him. Reptile spat something at her in annoyance, but it was muffled by the many layers of cloth tied around his mouth as he tried to wiggle out of the binds from his prone position on the floor. Reptile's hands were in thick separate burlap sacks— Tanya's idea— to keep him from slicing at the ropes from behind his back, while he tried feebly to wiggle out of the ropes tied securely around his ankles.

They had picked up their reptilian eavesdropper back at the start of their journey in the fields. After most of the caravans had left, it had been no difficult feat to take over the carriages they needed to blend in with the rest of the herd. There was a small force of Tarkatans with them, around 102 of them stuffed in 10 carriages. Small enough for their plan to remain inconspicuous, but large enough for when the actual siege would commence.

After they had caught Reptile skulking around, the fool being idiotic enough to make noise for them to all hear, they subdued him. With the bodyguard spying on them, it was not hard to deduce that Kotal Kahn knew that they were near the trade routes. That was a bit problematic, but with the Kahn's guard captured, Tanya was not too worried about it.

They were at the carriage at the end of the line, bringing up the rear. Tanya could hear the jungle animals chattering through the wood of their transportation; but they had grown quieter the more their journey progressed. They were getting closer to the city, and she smiled darkly in Reptile's direction as an idea came to mind.

Not very long ago, Rain and herself had an encounter with him in the Kuatan Jungle, but today, she was certain it would be the last time.

Tanya playfully glanced around the carriage at the Tarkatans and gave the Zatarren a wink. "I think it may be too crowded in here," she mused to him with a mocking tone.

Despite one of his eyes being swollen shut, Reptile narrowed them suspiciously in contempt at her.

Tanya lifted from her spot on the box of goods she was sitting on and went to open the back of the door, stepping over him to add insult. Light greeted the yellow-clad Edenian, and she breathed in the humid air with sarcastic delight, giving Reptile a taunting show. With the door closing and opening with every bump, she grabbed Reptile by his bound hands and made him sit on his knees. He fought against his confinements, his shoulders shimming roughly as he tried to get free.

"This is where you get off," she informed satirically; her eyes still narrowed in disgust at him.

She brought her foot up and connected it with the bottom of his jaw hard, snapping his head violently back. Reptile howled in pain as he sailed from the back of the carriage and landed hard in the middle of the road. Tanya saw his head connect with a rock that protruded from the ground in the middle of the road, but he was already knocked out cold from the force of her kick alone.

"Enjoy your pleasant dreams, Zaterran," Tanya snickered, smiling in satisfaction as she closed the door to the carriage.

* * *

_**Earlier...** _

It had been no trouble for a warrior such as Rain to gain entrance into the palace. He knew that due to the depletion in Kotal Kahn's forces, that there would not be many night guards securing the doors to the palace. With the added advantage of teleporting, it was simple to take out the guard at the servant's entrance at the south end.

After donning his attire, he teleported his body near an alley for the dead-collector's wagon in the morning. His body would be discarded along with the other paupers that succumbed to the conditions of homelessness or disease; no one would be the wiser.

He changed into the clothes and made his way through the laundry area and the small gardens attached until he had come to another door. Luckily for him, it led to a kitchen that he could utilize. Using flour, juice from a blue fruit that had been left out, and water created from his powers, he mixed the contents and used it to trace a rough pattern of the Osh-Tekk's tattoos. It was not the best disguise, but it was passable enough to avoid suspicion from quick glances of others.

Besides, he only needed to secure two items in the palace and wouldn't be in view for very long.

The first thing he needed to do was find the archive room.

It had been awhile since he had walked the halls of the palace; the last time was when Mileena was Kahnum and Shao Kahn before her. The Hydromancer knew of the rumor of a secret passageway buried deep within the subterranean levels.

However, it was only gossip regarding the location of the escape tunnel while the existence of it was true. Mileena had mentioned it once planning strategies they could use and with Kotal Kahn's forces taking extra precautions to protect the stronghold, there was no way to gain access to it then.

Now, the circumstances were different.

Kotal Kahn's forces were weak; most of his legion was used to police Z'unkahrah.

Granted, Rain knew that Kotal Kahn would be aware of the escape tunnel. But with so little knowledge of what they were planning with the Tarkatans, he doubted the Osh-Tekk fool would consider the possibility of an attack from within the palace; they had the element of surprise.

Besides, he already had another method to erase any doubt they would be using the escape tunnel to enter the palace. He smirked, knowing that his decoys were on the way soon.

Rain passed by other Osh-Tekk's on his way to the records room and they nodded courteously at him— a mere greeting from one guard to the other— and moved on their way.

Regardless of the crudeness of the tattoo drawn on him, they were obtuse that it was him in disguise. His ego flared at the ease of how the plan was rolling smoothly forward, and he smiled pompously in anticipation for when he delivered the final blow to the false Emperor.

Rain turned the corner and felt a smaller body collide with him. He offered no apology, but she did, and when she looked up at him, her eyes squinted with skepticism. He stared down at the servant with superiority as she continued to look at him with conjecture. She was decent looking enough, but her lineage was obviously of Earthrealm, and he felt disgust. One thing he did like, however, she was wearing his color.

She made a move to go around him, and he blocked her path, enjoying the clear discomfort he could read on her face.

"Let me pass," she seethed at him, trying to mask her distaste with a professional tone.

He scoffed mentally at her. How dare she command him to do anything.

Taking advantage that she was uncomfortable with his presence; he lowered his eyes down to her breasts to evoke anger from her before flashing a false lustful grin.

"Forgive me," the Edenian chided; taking pleasure of how annoyed she was. Noting the color of her attire once again, he could not help but flash an authentic smile. "I was just admiring the color of your dress."

The Earthrealm girl scoffed resentfully at him and shoved by with a push of her hands. He barely moved, her strength like a gust of air hitting him, but allowed her to pass.

Rain raised a doubtful eyebrow when he saw the handle of a knife tucked in the back of her dress, and he couldn't help but chuckle mockingly. If she thought she could do anyone any harm, she was poorly mistaken.

Moments afterward, he disregarded his encounter with the inferior woman and went on his way to his destination; continuing to stalk around the palace undetected. It only took him several attempts to locate the archives room, and he was slightly disappointed that it was unguarded. Locked, but still unguarded. He had been expecting some thrill.

It was easy enough to teleport to the other side of the door, and when he saw the small room, he yawned. He was growing quite bored with how easily things were coming to him, but nevertheless he knew it would not stay that way for long.

Rain scoured through the archives, looking through each scroll for blueprints by the light of the torches on the wall. Feeling frustrated with every failed attempt to locate them, he finally let out a sigh when his eyes landed on something he had failed to notice entering the room. There was a large blue tapestry hanging on the wall, and he couldn't help but find the placement of it to be odd. He walked over to it and lifted the heavy dusty fabric and smirked at what was underneath.

There was a large door behind the tapestry. Like before, it was no effort to teleport in, but this time he was greeted on the other side.

The Osh-Tekk that was inside the concealed room woke with a start when he saw the guard teleport in a large water bubble in front of him. Knowing well enough of who was capable of doing such a thing, he charged Rain with his spear. Rain side-stepped out of the way lazily, smirking in a blasé manner as the spear tip hit the wood of the door by his head.

The Osh-Tekk's other hand came around for a right hook that the Edenian quickly blocked; the Osh-Tekk's other hand still trying to pry the spear loose.

Rain countered by bringing his foot up and planting it hard into his stomach. The guard grunted as he stumbled back, losing his grip on the spear and reached for his tecpatl knife in his belt. The Prince shot a jet of water at him from his hand, and smiled when he hit the back of the records cabinet with a hard thud.

Rain watched as he fell faced down, soaked, before he shook his head and slowly started to recover; the Osh-Tekk on his hands and knees.

Rain simply walked over, grabbed him by his head and gave his neck a violent twist and let his body fall to the floor; his eyes never leaving the scrolls on the cabinet against the wall.

He went through the documents, noticing how old most of them were, but discarded them on the floor carelessly when they didn't have what he was looking for. Finally, he found a large blueprint of the palace structure. The ink was faded, and he had to adjust his eyes to the dim lighting, but he saw the long tunnel that snaked through the bottom of the palace. It started near the entrance of what appeared to be catacombs and he smiled in triumph.

Rain placed the parchment back in its place after he memorized where the entrance of the tunnel was.

He turned to leave but stopped when he saw the body of the dead Osh-Tekk. Rain smiled in amusement as he collected the scrolls he had dumped on the floor and placed them back in their spots; making sure it looked as meticulous as it had been before.

Then, he picked up the Osh-Tekk from the floor, carried him over to the chair he had been sitting on before and placed him on it. Rain let out a small chuckle as he closed the Osh-Tekk's lids— making it appear as if he was sleeping— before he teleported out of the room and made his way toward the catacombs.

* * *

_**Present...  
Kuatan Jungle** _

Besides the pain in his jaw and eye he felt throbbing when he woke up, the first thing Reptile felt was something licking the side of his face with its tongue.

His slit-pupil slanted towards the large dark green fur-coated boar that was trying to feast on him where he lay; he snarled instantly.

Its tusks scraped sharply against Reptile's cheek as he felt its teeth try and pry at the scales on his face. He noticed that his naturally acidic spit had already worn through the gag Tanya had placed over his mouth, and he was relieved — especially at what the boar did next.

Reptile hissed in pain when it bit him, and he retaliated by shooting acid from his mouth. It squealed in pain, the acid burning its snout as it darted off into the woods with haste; trying to distance itself from him and rid the acid from its face by brushing against foliage and trees. The Zaterran snarled in approval at the boar's misery. After it ran off, he contorted his tied hands from behind his back, around his bent knees, and with a hiss brought them in front of him. He ripped into the burlap sacks that were tied individually around his claws, pulling apart the fibers like they were cartilage attached to a piece of meat.

Finally, with his claws uncovered, he sank his teeth into the rope. When the rope went slack, he flailed it all off him in a fit of anger like he had a repulsive bug on him with a snarl.

As he hooked his claws underneath the rope at his ankles to free them, he felt an annoyed growl leave his mouth.

Little did the Edenian Witch know, he had intended to let himself be captured.

The only reason he would ever allow himself to do so was to find out what she and the Tarkatans were planning with the wagons. After he had discovered what their true purpose for the wagons, he would have freed himself and made his way back to Z'unkahrah to warn Kotal Kahn.

However, what was not purposeful was Tanya throwing him from the back of the wagon, knocking him unconscious and gaining a head start. Now, despite being free, he would have to catch up on the lost time he had.

Reptile sprang to his feet and sprinted in the direction of the city. After many miles, he began to tire, but he persisted even though his body begged for rest. It was imperative Kotal Kahn knew what the Edenians were planning— a plan that the Tarkatans had unveiled stupidly in the carriage before Tanya could silence them.

They were going to use the wagons to enter the city, bypass the checkpoints and use the escape tunnel to enter the palace and kill Kotal Kahn.

Reptile was not sure exactly how they discovered the escape tunnel, but from what he had heard it was sealed off. Kotal Kahn had no use for an escape tunnel. The Emperor was a proud warrior and felt it cowardly to rely on it as well as the strategic edge it gave to anyone besides the Emperor that wanted to use it. However, it didn't mean that Reptile wasn't worried. They could easily find a way to unblock it if they had the time and means to do so.

He had to get to the palace before Tanya did.

Hopefully, he was not too far behind.

* * *

Tanya grew bored with the company of the Tarkatans in the back of the wagon and opted with sitting next to the driver in disguise. She did so for two reasons: one was because she grew tired of looking at the hideous faces of the Tarkatan's, and the second was because the driver had proven that he could not be trusted.

The driver had made the heroic attempt to warn the soldiers at the last checkpoint they were at. While they had the benefit of being the last carriage at the end of the convoy, they were still reluctant about having any attention drawn to them.

Fortunately for them, the other carriages had pulled far enough away for them for them to be out of sight as they continued their trek to the edge of the city limits of Z'unkahrah.

Unfortunately for the driver, his efforts had not paid off as well as he was expecting it to. She glanced over at him and noticed the tear stains on his older face with indifference. Perhaps if he had not been as foolish as he was, his son would still be alive. He had made a transgression he paid dearly for— well, his son had paid dearly for given the fact his body was rotting somewhere back in the road behind them.

Tanya knew he had subtly signaled the soldiers that there was something amiss when he debated with the guard quite forcefully about refusing to show him their manifest. When both the Tarkatan commander and she heard him arguing that he did not need to show him the manifest of the supplies they had, she knew he had only done so they would have to inspect what was in the back.

She had already been prepared when the door opened and used her kobu jutsus to slash the throat of the first Osh-Tekk soldier. There had been several other guards and after he had fallen to the ground, her and the other Tarkatans in the wagon jumped out and attacked them. The soldiers were caught off guard and it was not difficult to get rid of the rest of them.

After several minutes of useless begging for his son's life, she was the one that slit the boy's throat.

Tanya glowered from behind her disguise; one that included a brown colored scarf wrapping around her head and mouth, only exposing her eyes, that was also the same color of the rags she wore to cover her yellow clothes. She had done the brunt of the work when they engaged the soldiers, and they even found themselves with one less Tarkatan. She sincerely hoped they were not going to be as useless as she thought they would be once they reached the city. If so, she began to mentally prepare herself for when they entered the palace. After they entered the city, they were to wait for Rain to rejoin them. Being a demigod had its perks that Tanya was slightly jealous of— his teleporting. So, she would have to wait on him. She hoped that her fellow Edenian had discovered the escape tunnel, otherwise their plan would fail, and she would be trapped in the city.

There was of course a fallback plan for both Edenians; a rendezvous place in case they needed to retreat. Tanya smirked lightly. That was all the Tarkatans were good for; being the brute muscle or being the sacrifices to allow them to escape. Either way, their allegiance was a temporary one.

She could just make out the silhouette of the city near the horizon and she smiled darkly.

* * *

Back at the palace, Rain carried himself down the steps to the entrance of the palace's catacombs. After much wandering, he eventually found the entrance to the subterranean level before he located the door that led further downwards. The deeper he delved down, the hotter the air got. He was also grateful that the abandoned, skull decorated walls of the tombs, carried torches on their walls and he did not have to carry one himself. He wiped the sweat from his brow from under the skull face mask of his costume as he also felt sweat over his chest. The only thing he carried was his clothes in a small bundle; he certainly wasn't going to kill Kotal Kahn dressed as an Osh-Tekk. The Prince wanted Kotal to know exactly who it was killing him.

He had never been down this deep inside the palace — he never had a reason to — and he began to regret that he did not bring the blueprints with him. The catacombs were a labyrinth. Every turn looked the same, except for a few details like the number of crevices in the wall holding corpses. Every wall was stacked high with skulls and bones as if they supplied the mortar to hold the wall together. For the most part, however, it was empty besides the rats that scurried along the wall.

He was not expecting any surprises like the last Osh-Tekk guard in the records vault, although he welcomed any that dared to try and fight him. The Osh-Tekk warriors that Kotal Kahn had to guard his most precious palace were weak and they would be no issue.

He wasn't worried how they would hold up against the Tarkatan rebels once they arrived. He only needed them to be distracted in the end. The Tarkatans would draw Kotal Kahn's guards away while Tanya and Rain sought their prize — Kotal Kahn's head on a pike.

Rain had spewed false flattery to the idiotic Tarkatan commander of how their camaraderie would bring a profitable outcome for the two of them, but he knew how worthless they were. They were ill-witted and would not oppose him once they accomplished their plan. They would be slaves to his rule under the camouflage of being allies.

Rain turned the corner and found himself at a dead end; the bodies of skeletons lining the wall staring back at him. He sighed with annoyance and turned around. Although none of this would come to fruition if he could not locate the entrance!

He knew it was midday and if Tanya had made it past the checkpoints, she would be close to the city. His thoughts went to his fellow Edenian and what to do with her once they won. She was untrustworthy, and while she had served as a valuable consort with him, he knew she was a traitor to her core. Tanya would need to be eliminated once her usefulness was spent. Once he had what was rightfully his.

Rain went around another corner and his eyes widened slightly at the sight of the two guards, armed with spears and swords, that were standing post besides a blank stone wall. He raised an eyebrow.

_Why would two guards need to be stationed to guard empty catacombs?_

He smiled darkly.

_Unless... there was something valuable behind that wall..._

Rain wasn't sure if stationing guards when they were so low on warriors was a well thought out strategic move to protect a critical weakness in their defense, or if it was wasteful. Regardless, it produced a small bit of dark amusement at the tiny opposition he had.

The guards looked at him with a curious expression.

"What are you doing down here?" the taller of them barked at him, "Return to your post—"

His voice drawled out when he narrowed his eyes at Rain's chest. The Edenian looked down towards his chest and noticed that the combination of flour, fruit juice, and water had started to crack and fall off.

They charged him, knowing that the forged tattoos were enough to raise alarm, and Rain rolled his eyes with annoyance.

_So much for his disguise._

He dropped his clothes as the taller of the Osh-Tekk's lunged his spear at him. Rain merely stepped out of the way before having to duck from the other that aimed his own spear for Rain's head.

The Hydromancer opened his palm and fired a blast of water at the taller of the two, sending him into the wall of the catacombs and causing the skulls on the wall to break from impact.

Rain noticed the shorter of the two, slash at his head and he dodged out of the way by leaning to his side slightly.

Rain pushed the tip of the spear away from his head and brought a clenched fist up into a brutal hook to his jaw. The shorter Osh-Tekk groaned in pain and fell backwards.

Rain heard the familiar sound of a sword being unsheathed and he turned to see the taller soldier pull out his bronze colored serpentine sword. He swung at him, missing his face when Rain leaned back. He swept the sword in a backhanded attack and as soon as it passed, he shot out, grabbed his wrist to hold him steady and brought his foot up to push-kick him into the wall.

The shorter of the Osh-Tekk let out a cry of anger, bringing his fist back to strike Rain across the face, but never received the chance when Rain blasted him with a bolt of lightning from his hand.

He stopped dead in his tracks, vibrating violently as he was assaulted with the painful volts running through him. Rain noticed out of his peripheral the other Osh-Tekk struggling to stand and Rain used the advantage of it. With his other hand, he shot a second bolt of lightning at him and he fell to the ground writhing in pain as he was electrocuted along with his fellow soldier.

Eventually, he had to cease, only able to hold both currents for a short while, but it was all he needed to restrain them. The shorter that had been standing while he was being fried, fell to the ground in a heap of pain, while the other one stayed on his position on his back; both groaning in agony.

Rain walked, almost casually, to pick up the sword that had been discarded. He picked it up and went to the shorter of the two. The guard held up a weak hand out in defense that Rain batted away just before he placed the wavy-edged sword to his throat and cut it open. The Osh-Tekk gurgled as his blood darkened the floor underneath him despite his efforts to dam his throat with his hands.

Rain walked over to the taller that was on his back and with a simple thrust, impaled him through the heart. He groaned out a haggled cry, his head lurching up from the pain before Rain gave a sharp twist, freeing the blade from his chest and watched as he died quickly.

The Hydromancer let the sword clang to the ground as he stepped over the body of the other one and placed his hands on his hips.

He looked at the stone wall with a frown, doubting that Kotal Kahn was one for theatrics to create a secret door; knowing he blocked the door with the wall on purpose. Osh-Tekk were arrogant and derived deluded pride dying in battle, but he knew that even Kotal Kahn would not block the door very aggressively in case he did actually need it. It was a simple wall for an illusion of nothing there, a facade.

Rain lifted his hands and removed the helmet, feeling relaxed that the taxing headgear was free from him and let it fall to the ground. He rubbed his chin with his hand, stroking it in the thought of how he would remove the barrier.

He was wary of teleporting and knew it would serve no purpose anyway to trap himself inside with the wall up. Instead, he lifted his hand and blasted lightning at it.

The stones cracked and began to buckle, and he persisted until he had to give into his body's need for rest. He placed his hands on his knees, collecting himself as the exertion wore off and smiled when a small piece of brick fell and revealed the trim of a doorway to him.

He walked over and began to pull away at the loose stone, letting it thud to the ground and echo loudly in the vastness of the catacombs. If anyone heard the sound, he would get rid of them as easily as the others, so he didn't concern himself with it.

Rain pulled apart the stone, all of it cascading into a mountain off to the side and smiled with complete satisfaction when he was greeted with the heavy wooden door.

Stepping over the stones still left over, he pushed it open and looked down the narrow rocky path. The tunnel itself looked as it was lazily dug in haste and he was slightly apprehensive if it might cave in on itself.

The sight of it still produced a toothy grin from him and without a second glance to the dead Osh-Tekk behind him, he picked up the bundle of clothes he had dropped in the scuffle and he ran down the escape path to the exit.

* * *

Erron had always lived in hot environments and was quite accustomed to them, however when he woke up groggier and sweatier than usual, he knew that something was not right.

Besides noticing how achingly dry he felt, he felt like someone had beaten him in his sleep with a sledgehammer.

He had retired for the evening after they had delivered their news to Kotal Kahn and he could tell he felt much worse than last night; all he had before was a headache and slight muscle cramping. It was a small sign that the water had infected him, but he had been reluctant to pay it any mind.

In the past, Shang Tsung's magic had done its job whenever he came down with an illness or injury. His body always healed at an accelerated rate and most colds or flus were nothing more than slight inconveniences that lasted maybe a day at the most.

However, Erron had never been stupid enough to ingest polluted water. He had seen others do so, but he never had.

Black let out a haggard cough. At first it was slight, only a small one, but as he continued to lie in bed, it attacked him more and more. His chest began to ache from the constant barrage of coughing that didn't allow him to suck in any air. Finally, it tapered off, allowing him a reprieve.

Unwillingly, he lifted his feet from the bed and swung them over the side. His head dipped forward as more coughs aching ripped through him. His elbows rested on his knees as his head hung low, his chin resting on his chest almost as his shoulders lifted from each cough.

Erron groaned at the thought of how miserable his day was going to be. He knew that the food carriages would be on their way to the city and it he would have to monitor the distribution along with Ermac. He hoped it went without complications; his entire body weak as he forced himself to stand.

By looking at the position of the sun out the balcony, he knew that he was already late. Ermac would most likely be impatient by this point, and he wasn't in the mood to hear the wraith scold him if he decided to take any more of his time.

With his bare feet shuffling across the floor, he went over to his table and began to dress. It was difficult, each movement proving more tiring than the next, but he stubbornly ignored it.

He had been stabbed, shot, beaten and even trampled and he was not going to let something as meager as a cold get to him.

As he placed his vest on, adjusting the straps, he began to wonder if maybe the cholera was fighting its own battle with Shang Tsung's magic. Both of the forces trying to claim victory in his body and he was only feeling some of his cholera trying it's best to win.

Maybe that was why he was feeling the effect now. The magic stalling it and slowly trying to break it down.

_It had to be._

Erron wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his forearm, coughing slightly as he placed his guns in their holsters and headed for the door.

He doubted that he would feel the full brunt of the cholera he had. Yes, he was miserable now, but he was positive this would be the worst of it.

Hopefully, it wore off soon.

* * *

Rain was very surprised how long it took to reach the end of the tunnel, although he did frown when he was greeted with yet another wall that was blocking the exit. Much like before, he used his lightning to break apart the stone slabs.

When he managed to move apart all that was needed to get through, he had to adjust his eyes to the sunlight. He lifted himself up, crawling from the darkness of the escape tunnel to find an open area with the backs of buildings facing across from him. The smell of animal manure wafted into his nose and he scrunched his face in repulsion at it. After piecing the clues together, he figured out relatively quickly he was near stables.

By the looks of it as well, it appeared that he was on the city's border; he could still see the primary perimeter wall that encompassed the city over the top of the stable's roof. Rain knew there was a gate on this end, but it was overlooked by the grand main entrance to Z'unkahrah. It was guarded as well but not as fortified as the other one was.

Rain peered around the area for any spying eyes. It didn't look like he had drawn attention and he smirked lightly before he climbed from the cover of the door. He walked along the area, trying to see where exactly in the city he was, and glanced down the alley to see many of the locals rushing in one direction.

He looked at the position of the sun and noticed that it was past midday and soon it would start to descend over the horizon. Hoping that Tanya's part went without difficulty and seeing the locals migrating in one direction, the food carriages must be in the city by now. If so, so would she with their Tarkatan allies.

The food wagons would be at the marketplace and he looked in the direction of the palace with a frown.

Rain knew his next objective was to locate Tanya and the others after finding the tunnel. However, he could not leave it unattended when he knew that there was most likely someone working the stables.

He stalked around the outside of the stables, looking for any way to get inside and smirked when he found the door.

Casually, he walked inside and greeted the occupants in sealed off stalls. The large saber-toothed mounts hissed at him as they tried to claw him; reaching their paws through the bars but failing. There were only 6 stalls, and seeing it was a relatively small stable, it would be no effort to kill whoever owned it.

He walked to the end of the hall, passing by a wall with leather harnesses and saddles, turned the corner and saw a long staircase that led up to a closed door upstairs. He could hear people talking and he smelled the food that they were preparing. Rain looked at the stairs with a grimace. He knew that the moment he stepped foot on them they would creak, so he took another approach.

He lifted his hand, surrounding himself in a large water bubble, and teleported inside the room.

The family of three jumped in alarm when he suddenly appeared in their kitchen. He took note of the Outworld family with indifference. A frail, thin woman, a teenage boy maybe 14 years old and the husband of the wife who was Osh-Tekk, lunged at him with the kitchen knife; the only thing he had within reach.

Rain simply grabbed his wrist and twisted it until he heard the bones in his wrist snap. The Osh-Tekk let out a cry of pain and Rain caught the knife that fell from his hand before planting it in his neck.

The woman grabbed the child and ran with him, trying to get past him. Rain's head snapped in their direction when he heard the door open. He shot a jet of water at the pair and they flew down the wooden staircase with startled screams. Rain pulled the knife from the throat of the dead husband and dropped both it and him with a careless release.

Rain approached the doorway at the top of the stairs and saw the boy and the woman gasping and crying in a painful heap at the bottom. Both of them soaking wet and staring up at him fearfully like he was a demon from the Netherrealm.

He smiled darkly at their pitiful expressions and purposely lowered himself down the stairs one foot at a time to elicit fear from them. As he got closer, their pleading turned into incoherent blubbering and they tried to crawl away with broken limbs from the fall; the boy with a broken arm and the woman with a broken leg.

The boy managed to pull his mother on her working leg, her arm draped over his shoulder and tried to escape him.

Before they could make it halfway down the stable hallway, Rain teleported in front of them and clicked his tongue at them.

The boy lunged for him pathetically; trying to throw a punch at him with his uninjured hand, before Rain powerfully hit him across the face. He spiraled into the wall, banging his head hard and collapsed to the ground with an unconscious thud. Rain focused his attention on the mother who stared fearfully at him.

She cried out in pain as she tried to flee the other direction while Rain simply grabbed her by the hair and sent her flying into the pile of saddles and harnesses. She collapsed on the ground, whimpering.

He flipped her over by kicking her in the face with his boot. She rolled on her back, her hands clutching at her broken nose. With nothing more than a blank face, he placed his boot over her throat, pushed down and strangled the life from her.

She thrashed wildly underneath him, the veins in her forehead becoming more prominent as her face turned purple. He enjoyed the color he produced with his foot, but when he noticed the boy starting to recover, he pressed down harder on her throat to kill her more quickly.

The boy had just brought himself to his knees before Rain quickly walked behind him and gave his neck a violent snap.

With them taken care of, he went back upstairs and changed into his preferred attire. Once again dressed in his Edenian clothes he felt a sense of grandiose contentment. He eyeballed the stew that was bubbling in the caldron and heard his stomach growl and it caused him to roll his eyes with irritation. All this tedious killing had given him an appetite. With a shrug of his shoulders, he poured himself a bowl. Rain walked over to the window of the kitchen and looked down below at what would soon be his. Meanwhile eating the supper of the family he had just eliminated without the slightest bit of guilt running through him. In fact, his only thought concerning them was hoping the food would be better. He was more used to something of a richer palate, but he supposed it would have to do.

He took his time eating. The day was still bright and he knew it would not be difficult to locate Tanya.

His fellow Edenian could wait till he was done eating.

* * *

Erron and Ermac stood off to the side in the marketplace as it bustled with activity. As soon as word spread that the carriages from the north had finally arrived in Z'unkahrah, all of the potential buyers flooded the marketplace ready to buy the necessities they needed for their businesses.

The wagons hadn't even finished setting up before they were swarmed by people. Ermac and Black were off to the side watching it all, letting the Osh-Tekk handle the crowd control until they were needed. They were there to supervise the distribution while the high-ranking Osh-Tekk commander gave orders and looked over the manifests for any discrepancies.

For the most part, the transition was handled smoothly and Erron was getting more and more impatient as the day carried on.

He knew that Ermac could sense that something was wrong with him. He was never subtle with his annoyed looks in Black's direction though he never voiced it. It was true, though, he felt awful. He tried to take shelter away from the sun, but it did little to help him as sweat rolled down his face and body nonstop.

The gunslinger also had difficulty standing and leaned against the wall of the building for support. His coughing had become more frequent and he tried to hide it by stifling the best he could, but they left him in fits regardless. Eventually, he had to remove his face mask; the protective cover turning into a hindrance.

In addition to his cough, he also had the worst stomach cramps and they were even more painful when he coughed; each one like a kick in the chest.

Black had never felt this sick since he had made the deal. Now he was beginning to worry that maybe he should have paid more heed to the possibility that magic couldn't solve every problem he had.

Erron coughed again, this time he didn't bother to hide it — his chest already too sore from his previous efforts — and let it out loudly. It caught Ermac's attention and he turned his head simply in his direction. Eventually, it passed and Erron lifted his stetson from his head and wiped the sweat rolling from his forehead in rivets with his palm before placing his hat back on.

"You are unwell," Ermac pointed out blatantly.

Black shook his head, "I'm fine," he grumbled. Another cough escaped him, betraying him and revealing his lie to Ermac.

The wraith narrowed glowing green orbs at him; unconvinced, "We sense the sickness within you."

"I said I'm fine Ermac—drop it," Black snapped.

Ermac's mouth opened slightly, almost as if he was about to add something before he was interrupted by the Osh-Tekk commander walking over to them. He shifted through his parchments, looking over the manifest and back at them with a frown; waiting for permission to be addressed.

"What is it?" the mercenary questioned.

"Everything is accounted for, except we are missing quite a few wagons," the Osh-Tekk told him.

Erron shrugged his shoulders, "You're probably overlookin' the ones on the way to the palace."

"I assure you I am not," the commander affirmed, shaking his head slightly. "Those were already on their way to the palace before your arrival. These wagons are for the masses as well as the ones that are not accounted for."

Black pinched the bridge of his nose with his finger and thumb, his headache pounding harder against his skull. "How many are missing?"

"Ten," the Osh-Tekk answered with a grimace.

_Shit. That was quite a few._

Another set of coughs raked through him and he turned away from the guard, placing his hand over his mouth to muffle it. The sound of his cough was harsh and course, like his throat was choking out sand. He found himself doubling over from a mixture of the strength of it and the weakness he felt in his limbs. He gasped for air, sucking it in greedily as he tried to fill his lungs. When he removed his hand from his mouth, his face fell at what he saw. His hands were as wrinkled and withered as Ermac's mummified skin.

It was getting worse.

"Are you ill?" asked the Osh-Tekk, his eyes narrowed at the Kahn's guard with concern. Erron didn't bother to answer him, mostly because he didn't want to admit he was.

He wasn't sure how much longer he could choose to ignore he wasn't strong enough to simply walk it off. His symptoms were starting to become more and more severe and he needed to get it dealt with. However, the missing wagons were odd and they also needed to be taken care of.

Ermac looked over at Black once more, his arms crossed over his chest as he levitated next to him. His face was stoic, but Erron could read the subtle annoyance at his condition behind his wrapped face.

"We will search for the missing transports," Ermac informed the Osh-Tekk commander. "Remain here."

The Osh-Tekk nodded, pleased that his concern would be taken care of and signaled for a couple of guards to accompany Ermac. Black nodded his head, and through his mind-numbing headache, understood that he would be accompanying him.

Apparently, he had misinterpreted that when Ermac said _'we'_ he meant himself; despite that Erron was used to Ermac speaking in plural.

The construct glowered and shot him and austere look. "You are unfit to accompany us," he proclaimed with a dull tone.

The marksman narrowed his eyes disdainfully at him, unwilling to let the mystic just shove him away that easily.

"I'm comin' whether you like it or not," Black protested, a small cough escaping him.

"You are worthless in your condition," Ermac disclosed, his tone more forceful than before. Green eyes narrowed with disapproval. "You will impede us."

Erron knew that the only reason he didn't want him to come with him was because he felt he would be dead weight than actual help — which granted Black was beginning to feel himself —but he be damned if he was going to let Shao Kahn's former puppet tell him what to do.

"And I say too bad," Erron challenged.

Despite the scowl that came over his bandaged wrapped face, Erron truly didn't expect Ermac to do what he did in response to his stubborn statement.

Ermac clenched his fist and Black felt his arms slam to his sides, the green energy of Ermac's telekinesis binding him as he was lifted into the sky. Erron struggled, grunting as he tried to release the pulsating pressure from around his body.

Ermac's hand opened and with a wave of his hand, catapulted him in the direction of the palace. Erron couldn't help the surprised yell that left his mouth as he sailed through the air, flying a good 20 feet over the heads of bewildered people until he felt himself start to sink closer to the ground. Unfortunately, he felt his body collide with someone that was tinier, frailer, and by the pained yelp that he heard, feminine and elderly.

He landed with a pained grunt, his back sliding against the sand; agony rocking his already tired body.

Perhaps it was deliriousness, or the headache, maybe it was being flung through the air like a rag doll, but he felt worse than before. Suddenly, he rolled over on his hands and knees and vomited into the sand.

It was brief, barely a cupful, but his face scowled in disgust at the yellowish bile that began to soak into the sand. With his eyes directed towards the ground, he noticed that his hat had fallen off. He was thankful that he had managed to avoid throwing up on his hat and retrieved it; placing it on his head.

Black saw movement out of the corner of his eye and he grimaced when he saw who it was that he had collided into— or rather Ermac had forced him to crash into.

The elderly woman next to him, groggily began to pick herself up from the ground with the aid of a younger man lifting her lightly by her shoulders. He helped her to her feet as she pressed her hand against the red bandana she had tied around her braided white hair.

Erron sighed, feeling somewhat terrible that he had knocked such a fragile old thing down, even if it wasn't intentional. Her eyes darted to him angrily with her fists clenched.

Black knew she was looking for an apology, and he was about to offer one out, before she shrieked like a maniac and leapt on top of him, straddling his chest.

Considering all the strange things and foes he had encountered in Outworld, finding himself on his back with a distempered old woman pummeling him, was by far the most bizarre thing that had ever happened to him.

Erron groaned as his head snapped to the side with each blow from her tiny fists, each powerful punch like a brutal assault from a younger man with combat experience. As much as he wanted to fight back, he could not live with himself if he punched a sweet little old woman— even if she was currently beating the shit out of him.

_How in the hell was she so strong?!_

Black could hear her give one last shriek in anger above him before she gave him one last solid jab to the jaw. His head snapped back into the sand and he felt her climb off his chest. Stars danced above his head and he heard her give one last huff at his battered state before he saw her shuffling away in a typical geriatric fashion.

Erron remained on the ground, too dismayed, stunned and enervated to move. He heard the guards coming over to help him and he groaned, a mixture of the embarrassing beating and nausea, overwhelming him before he felt darkness take hold.

* * *

Norah fumbled her way over the words of the book that Carver gave her, lost so much in concentration that she didn't hear him call out to her the first time.

Bert snapped his fingers at her and finally pulled her attention away from the paperback book. She looked up, blinking when she caught Carver and Bert staring at her from across the table.

"What is it?" she asked, her eyes flickering back and forth between them.

"I was asking you what part you were at," Carver said with a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh," she looked back at the book and then back to him, "He is telling the others to be careful with his dinnerware."

"Ah, gotcha. They're blunting the knives," Carver said with a wink, smiling in recognition.

She returned to her book, trying to locate the spot where she left off. Despite that she would constantly have to recall certain letters and translate their pronunciations in the common tongue, she found the book engrossing and found it a suitable distraction in between baking. So much so, she almost burned the bread of the midday meal earlier.

After dressing for her other duties and her loaves cooling for the dinner meals off to the side, she decided to bury herself in the book until it was time to go serve at dinner. It was whimsical and entertaining and much different from the books she used to read; mostly history books from her mother's old occupation in Earthrealm. Being that she was never interested in Earthrealm history, she always tired of the books. This was fiction and it fascinated her. Although, she had to admit that she was having difficulty focusing on it with the theater show occurring between Bert and Carver.

Along with the arrival of flour and goods from the wagons that came from the harvest up near the northern trade routes, fishermen also supplied them with a small shipment of crustacean for the Kahn's dinner tonight. It happened once in an awhile, the Kahn usually enjoyed poultry and meat over seafood, but each time they got something from the sea it was ironically Carver's least favorite meal to prepare — especially when it was still alive.

Carver's hand flung rapidly through the air, a pained scream of surprise leaving him when his finger was ensnared in the long slender claw of the blue long-tailed crustacean.

Bert looked up and raised an eyebrow when Carver managed to detach him and watched as it hit the wall of the kitchen door, lay stunned for a moment, before it snapped its claws defensively as Carver approached it.

"You're supposed to keep your fingers away from their claws," Bert instructed Carver with a sarcastic but deadpan delivery.

Carver, without breaking eye contact with the crustacean, flashed Bert with his middle finger. Norah exchanged a glance with Bert and they both smiled.

They watched with amusement as the animal tried to go pass Carver but each time it tried, Carver blocked it's path and retreated back into the corner. The young cook reached for it again and he was rewarded with another one of his fingers pinched. He yelled out in pain before it let him go, and looked at his damaged finger with a scowl before looking back at his tiny blue little foe.

"Oh, I'm so gonna Little Mermaid your ass," Carver growled, as he pulled the cleaver from the table next to him. "Oh-hoh-hoh."

"I thought you were born on an island?" Norah condescended with a small chuckle. "I would think you would be used to handling sea creatures."

"Just because I grew up on an island doesn't mean I ate fish 24/7," he shot back at her, "And I hate crabs. They're assholes."

"It looks more like a lobster to me," Bert argued with a small shrug.

"He has the tail, but he's got the stupid bulky body and legs," Carver pointed out, "And I hate him, so he's a crab."

"They are called Brachpidi," Norah told them with a small laugh, "And they are aggressive when you have them cornered like you do."

The aquatic creature snapped its claws at Carver, running at him briefly before cowering and shrinking back as Carver stomped his foot at it. It's blue antenna flickered as its smaller feelers stroked over its open mouth. Carver tried to find an opening to grab it, but it snapped its claws at him each time he reached for it; earning a curse word each time he narrowly missed being pinched.

Bert, who had no trouble with them, held one by its long tail and sank it into the boiling water of the cauldron. It let out a small shrill shriek, barely audible, before it died and began to cook in the pot.

The older man threw an impatient hand towards Carver, "Will you just grab the damn thing?"

Carver waved his own impatient hand at Bert, telling him silently to mind his own business, before he lunged forward and grabbed it. They couldn't help but laugh in amusement at the horrified look on his face and the distemper of the crustacean that wiggled angrily in the cook's grasp.

Carver dunked it in the water with amused satisfaction, and like the one that went in before it, tried to clamber out before it went slack.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is the Jacuzzi too hot?" Carver asked it satirically before he went over and helped Bert handle the other ones.

Norah had smiled at them before she went back into her book. Unfortunately, she did not make it very far before Bao and Abigail walked into the kitchen. They had left briefly an hour ago once Abigail had finished cleaning her pots and pans. Norah couldn't help but stare apprehensively as Abigail eyeballed the book with more intensity than what was required.

She had given the book the same look before they had left, and she wondered what was running through the quiet woman's mind. The baker wanted to ask, but she knew she would not be able to share. Norah decided to push it aside when she recalled something that she had stumbled upon earlier.

"Oh, I meant to ask you all," Norah started. "Where any of you using my flour last night? It was left out and I know I always place it away."

They all looked at her in confusion.

"It wasn't me or Bert," Carver told her with a shrug.

"Nor I," Bao answered. Abigail also shook her head.

Norah frowned. When she arrived in the morning, her workstation was in disarray. There was water, flour and blue fruit plucked from one of the bowls staining the wood when she arrived. It was annoying that she had to clean it up before starting her day and she wanted an explanation.

"Maybe it was Ferra?" Bao offered, "She was looking for you last night."

Norah nodded, although she wasn't entirely convinced.

"We are to deliver to their rooms tonight," Bao reported to her and Norah frowned deeply. The last time she had to go to Erron Black's room it did not go so well.

She sighed sourly but nodded her head in compliance. Regrettably, it did not take long for Carver and Bert to prepare the meals as she would have hoped. After they were finished, Norah and Bao grabbed the trays and headed to the rooms of their designated superiors. Bao off to deliver to Ermac's room and Norah to Erron Black's.

As soon as Norah left, Abigail grabbed the book that she had left unattended and tucked it into the pockets of her dress. Carver didn't notice it, but Bert did.

She flashed him a pointed look, almost as if she was begging that her having the book was a matter of life and death. Bert frowned, reluctant about refusing to address it, but saw the seriousness in her expression. Bert nodded slightly; he would keep his mouth shut.

Abigail flashed him a thankful look and went back to her room.

* * *

When Erron woke up in his bed, he was grateful for two reasons. One was because someone was kind enough to place him in his room to address the urgency of reason number two.

His vest, boots, kneepads, shirt, poncho and hat were discarded to the floor as he stumbled in the direction of his bathroom. Every task to remove it was laborious but relieving as he pushed open the door and closed it lazily behind him.

He collapsed to his knees, sweating heavily and puked into the medieval toilet that was nothing but an empty wooden box with a round hole cut in it. He lurched painfully into it, his hands clawing at the edges of it before he deplorably felt the most severe symptom of his ailment introduce itself finally.

His hand flew to his belt buckle, fumbling with it critically as his stomach knotted and mauled him viciously in pain before he felt the contents travel south through his intestines.

Black cursed under his breath. He did truly have cholera and he was experiencing the worst of it. His situation was now dire, and he doubted any of Shang Tsung's magic would offer him any reprieve.

Erron needed water—clean water to flush it all out.

Or it would kill him.

* * *

For the second time in a row, Norah waited impatiently outside of Erron Black's door with a tray of food in her hand.

Much like before, she knew that he was purposely making her wait to annoy her. Also, knowing him, it was a way to make it clear to her that she was his servant. She rolled her eyes at the thought; she had all the reminding she needed and now found it infuriating. His game was as enraging as it was the last time. With an annoyed huff, she pounded her fist on the door.

Norah knew that she was supposed to be practicing her _'killing with kindness'_ method now that he had returned to the palace, but her patience was at an end and she had not even seen him yet. She still had to feed Ferra/Torr and she was in no mood.

The more she waited, the inside of her cheek growing raw from constantly biting on it, Norah began to wonder if Carver was wrong. Regardless of the one successful example he had shown her and her peace with Ferra, the cup-bearer was starting to wonder if Black even deserved the effort.

Once more, she pounded on the door with three hard knocks.

After several moments, she felt like dumping his plate on the ground for him to find. Before she did that, she pressed her ear to the door to make sure that he was actually in the room. The last thing that she needed was him to come find her demanding why she hadn't waited for him to open the door.

Norah listened closely and could make out the sound of him groaning miserably from the other side. The sound was muffled, but she could hear it. She wondered why he was groaning until she heard him retching.

She understood perfectly now why he wasn't coming to the door.

He was indisposed.

Even with her hatred for him still powerfully present within her, she found herself torn on what to do. Her choices were to ignore that he was not feeling well and leave the tray outside the door. She could linger till he was able to come to the door and keep Ferra and Torr waiting. Her last option, and the most unsavory, was to open the door and see if he needed assistance.

She scowled slightly at the latter option. He hadn't been so quick to aid her when she needed help. Why should she offer any to him? The tray suddenly began to grow heavy in her hands, persuading her to leave it on the ground.

Norah was beginning to lower it, but when she heard him vomiting loudly on the other side, her conscious stung her like a vicious bug bite.

Truly, she wanted nothing to do with him; she would much rather he suffer in his ailment for all the grief he had caused her. However, Carver's sentimental strategy still whispered in her head. Even if it wasn't in his character to be kind to anyone but himself, it wasn't in her's to ignore someone who obviously needed help.

Norah leaned her head back, groaning in frustration. She had to at least offer to assist him, not for his sake, but for her nagging conscious that would not allow her to walk away.

She gave the door one last knock and after minutes of it going unanswered, her hand went to the handle of the door. Norah inhaled deeply, hoping that she would not be greeted with a gun on the other side, and pushed it open.

The baker hadn't been able to see the inside of his room the last time she was here — she had been too focused on their heated argument — and she was unsurprised at how bare it was.

There was a simple bed with white sheets and a large leather trunk at the foot of it. A large table on the other end that held most of his equipment; she saw the rifle and vest on top of the table while his gun belts draped over the top of the chair that had been pushed out. There was a large cabinet with large doors across from her, also adjacent to a balcony with double-sided doors that were open at the moment; she could see the light start to die over the horizon from the balcony that gave it a nice view of the marketplace.

Everything from the cabinet, to the table, to the bed and the floor of the room were the same dark brown color. It was simple and straightforward, much like he was.

Her head snapped in the direction of a door that was next to the bed when she heard him vomit once more and curse under his breath. Norah noticed the door was cracked slightly and could barely make out movement through the slender crack.

Norah placed the tray down on his table and went to approach the door, simply with the intention to ask if he needed her help.

She quirked an eyebrow when she saw his hat, boots, kneepads, poncho and undershirt littered on the floor that led in a messy trail to what she assumed was his washroom.

She felt uncomfortable the closer she got to the door, feeling as if it was very inappropriate. Her discomfort increased even more when he apparently must have heard her coming because the next thing she knew, he flew open the door.

Norah's eyes widened at his appearance; she knew he was sick, but she had not expected to find him in such a disheveled state.

He looked absolutely dreadful, and despite the glower he had on his face when he saw her standing there, she could read that he felt as miserable as he looked. Black had his hands braced against the door frame, looking as if it was the only thing holding him up and scowled angrily at her.

Even with the kohl still covering his eyes, she could see that they were sunken in; as if he was severely dehydrated. Her other clue that he might be in desperate need for water was how the sweat rolled off his face and chest like he had haggardly pulled himself out of a river. She was thankful that he chose to keep his dark pants on, because she felt very awkward enough with him standing there looking like a shirtless diseased rat.

He coughed laboriously at her and she grimaced at the roughness of it when she heard it. His eyelids drooped tiredly at her though she could still see how irate he was. Norah could tell he was displeased that she had walked unannounced into his room, but not because he didn't give her permission. It was obvious he was embarrassed to be seen by her in such a weakened state.

Any sympathy vanished for him by the looks he was giving her alone. In fact, in a perverted fashion, she found herself glad to see him in such poor spirits.

A smile tugged slightly when she recalled the words he parted with last time they saw each other at dinner. Considering the ironic nature of his situation, it was too perfect not to throw back at him.

"You know you look like shit, right?"

His lip curled up at her comment and he raised a livid finger in her direction, as if preparing to say something, until he noticed the tray of food behind her on his table.

The lump in his throat bobbed up and down as he smacked his lips roughly. With no more than an irritated grumble that was incoherent, he shoved her and stumbled towards the plate she had set down on the table. He reached greedily for the goblet of water, ignoring the food on the plate and lifted the cup to his mouth and engulfed it.

Norah couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as she watched him disgustingly suck down the water; most of it spilling out of the cup and his mouth and rolling down his neck. The mercenary carelessly discarded the cup, letting the goblet clang against the surface of the table before he coughed again.

He had swallowed it too quickly, and she watched as he threw it back on the floor.

Norah crossed her arms over her chest, indifferent, although she had a disgusted look on her face. It smelled awful; like water fish had lay deceased in, and she cringed at the yellow color of it. He had his hands on his knees and by the way he was dry heaving with achy gasps, it looked like he was truly, gravely ill. More so than she had initially thought he was.

 _Elder Gods damn it._ Even though Norah knew he would resist her help, she could tell that he needed it. He was in no condition to take care of himself.

Norah cursed inwardly again, a deep frown on her face. For one day— this day— she wished she could have suppressed her conscious. For Carver's sake only, she would make the effort.

Still hunched over, Norah approached him and placed a hand against his forehead. She had expected to feel a fever, instead his head was cold and clammy and her eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Do you know what is wrong with you?" she asked him; she couldn't help but notice how deadpan her voice sounded.

She heard him huff angrily at her question, and her eyes closed for a moment. As if she was trying to muster enough concentration to push aside the spark of anger she felt within. She exhaled loudly and opened her eyes, her patience returning slightly.

"I can bring a healer to see you," she offered, her voice still lifeless.

Erron Black shoved her hand away from his forehead hard. Norah narrowed her eyes at him when he stood straight, doing his best to put on a stern demeanor but didn't convince her when she saw him wobbling from one foot to the other.

"Water..." he told her extremely curtly. "Get me... _clean_ water."

Despite being as miserable as he was, his tone was unnecessarily rude. The ember of anger that she had felt previously began to dance around the inside of her. Norah could feel it, slowly igniting in the pit of her stomach and rising to her chest little by little.

She tried to dose her temper with her rationality. He wasn't feeling good. He was cranky. He was impatient because he was ill. The excuses she made for him did little to calm her nerves, so she tried to distract herself from her feelings when she realized his request sounded somewhat familiar to her.

Living near the poorer side of the city, she often came across people with the same symptoms he was experiencing and knew of the simple treatment needed. Noting his dehydrated appearance and the color of the bile on the ground, she understood exactly what was wrong with him.

"Did you drink polluted water?" Norah questioned. When she saw his lip twitch indignantly, a slight growl under his breath, she knew that he did.

"Why did you not take care of it—"

Black took a step forward to her, looking completely exasperated with her already, and fumed angrily at her as the sweat on his face continued to pour down his face in beads.

"Get me. Water. _NOW!_ "

When he screamed those four words at her in the arrogantly discourteous and commanding tone, the air between them grew thick. Instantly, she felt her demeanor darken and the kindling anger that she had within combusted into an inferno.

It was incredibly ironic that on top of all the horrendous things he had done to her, it was four, simple words that made something snap within her and awakened some entombed demon that she wasn't even aware she had been repressing.

Maybe it was the memory of all the irreversible and despicable things he had said and done, or the pathetic acceptance of being a beaten and belittled servant by not just him, but others as well. It had to be a combination of all of it, because when he chose to spit those four words in such a resentful and flippant manner, something in her changed abruptly and she felt all her emotions flood her at once.

Four words and over the roar of the flames she felt within her body, she was able to make out three words and understood what was happening.

_She. Was. Done._

All patience she had for him died immediately as she felt indescribable rage swirling within her like a vapor of red scolding steam that made it difficult to even decipher anything. Violent but steady puffs of air came noisily from her nose while her whole body rose and fell with each inhale and exhale.

The hatred she felt boiling up within her, nearly at the brim, was hot and smoldered while it shot through every vein in her body. She felt pain in her palms and knew it was because she was digging her nails into the flesh of her hand.

Her teeth clamped tight but her lips still twitched and pulled up, wanting to spew every scathing comment she had for him, but couldn't form coherently. Norah could already feel her jaw ache from the pain of clenching it so tightly.

Black said something, something offensive, but the sound she heard was muffled by her own dangerously clouded thoughts that screamed and pounded against her skull, wanting to get out. Mild coherency had returned for only a moment before he ripped it away from her with another disdainful comment.

"I said are you deaf or are you stu—"

Norah slapped him solidly across the face; the sound comparable to the shatter of glass and with enough force to send him stumbling back and land in the chair.

He looked surprised but livid as his cheek started to swell; a red mark exaggerated on the paleness of his skin. Despite feeling some of her anger taper down, allowing some rational thought to present itself, she still felt fulfillment and it was only the beginning.

"Do you have a dea—"

"SHUT UP!"

For a moment, she doubted it was her that had shouted the words but when she saw the stunned look on his face, it was proven it was indeed her. Since she knew him, his face dropped in concern at her for the first time, and much to her amazement, his lips pressed together tight; obeying her.

Norah seethed at him for several moments before she managed to grapple the words together in her head, forming them into a speech she wanted to make sure she had his full attention of.

She approached him, standing in front of the chair he sat, unafraid of him. They both knew he didn't have the strength and she understood that this may be the only opportunity that she might have to get him to truly understand all the pain he had caused her.

Norah's eyes drilled into his, wide with animosity, as she continued to breathe with dander out of her nostrils. Erron Black met her stare with narrowed, unimpressed eyes and it was enough to finally pull the words from her mouth.

"Allow me to make something _clear_ to you," she began low and dismally, the words coming through her teeth, "I do not care that you are ill. After all that you have done to me, it is enough to give me satisfaction. I am also not _stupid_ enough to treat the only person that can help you with such disrespect, but evidently, _you_ are."

He opened his mouth to retort angrily...

"I am not finished!" she hollered loudly, silencing him. Black glared at her, but the only sound that came from him was another set of light coughing.

A breathy, callous laugh left her; almost as if scolding him for coughing in her direction: "Even after you threatened to kill me, I came in here to help you. Yet instead of gratitude for showing you the slightest bit of kindness— that you did not deserve— I am treated with nothing but contempt?! Do you see what you are?! Nothing but an arrogant, _ungrateful,_ son of a whore!"

She must have said something wrong in her rant, because suddenly rage filled his own face at her. Norah ignored it as her head tipped towards him like a bull preparing to charge, her lip curled up in anger.

"I should turn my back to you. Much like you chose to turn your back on me when I needed your help back at my tavern— or have you forgotten already?"

His jaw clenched, but she could see the small flicker of regret in his eyes; her words sinking into him despite the stubborn demeanor he tried to falsely portray.

It didn't sway her in the slightest.

Whoever this person was that was addressing him, she applauded them. She was done with his ill-treatment of her and when she said she was done, she was undoubtedly _done_. This new angrier version of her finally had his attention and Norah was not going to restrain herself with thoughts of her repercussions — she honestly did not care in the slightest anymore.

"You wanted me to bring you water. Yes?" she mockingly asked.

Her hand backhanded the plate of food that she had brought for him and it clattered in a mess spilling across the room. Norah was unsure why she had done it; perhaps she just needed to hit something or bring her point across, whatever the reason, it felt good.

"AND I WANTED YOU TO HELP ME!" The words left her loudly and after they had died in the air, it left her feeling more wrathful than eased.

Black eyed the food on the ground in silence, his eyebrow raised slightly, before he fixed his attention back to her. His reaction furthered infuriated her more and she hadn't realized how much she wanted to have her revenge after all.

Still sweating profusely in the chair, ill beyond any capability to do anything, left him at her mercy and Norah had no idea when this opportunity would come again. She would not desert the chance to return a slice of what he had done to her. _What to do though..._

Angry tears ran down her face as her thoughts suddenly drifted back to the memory of the tavern. They had beaten her father to death before her eyes for something that they were not responsible for.

Shin, the kindest to them of the wretched brothers, had been killed accidentally on their last excursion to Earthrealm. Killed trying to retrieve the order of whiskey that Erron Black, the mercenary sitting in front of her, had paid them nothing for. They could not pay their dues because he had not bothered to ask how much he owed for their services. Black had not given them a single care how it would affect them, and he felt no remorse for not helping her.

She wanted nothing more than to make him feel the excruciating despair she had that day and she knew exactly how to make him pay.

Norah didn't pay attention to the tears streaking down her face, in a way, she wanted him to see them clearly so he understood what she would do next.

"For a moment, I thought you would walk back and help us," Norah admitted with a choked, bitter voice. "How stupid I was."

His eyes flickered to hers slowly and for a moment, she thought she even saw remorse, but she knew better that he only cared for himself.

Norah breathed a shaky sigh, her demeanor hardening despite the tears. "I depended on you because you were my only option. Now, I am yours."

She watched as his face frowned heavily at her words, and she could see that he detected the foreboding in her words.

Norah took a step to him, her eyes scolding him with a cold and stoic expression with a tone to match: "I am going to leave and you will wait— much like I waited— to see if I return or not to save you."

Black narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her, but Norah could still see the apprehensiveness in them. Her threat was not a light one.

She turned to leave, and she could hear him calling out for her to stop. Her answer to his request was slamming the door as hard as she could behind her before she marched in the direction of the kitchen. She was still debating whether she wanted to fetch him water, even though deep down, she knew her answer even when she made the threat.

Norah would let him linger and she would savor the time it would take to return to his room with water. It would not kill him yet, but she wanted nothing more than to let him experience what she did.

Norah would help him; regrettably, she would still help him. As tempting as it was to leave him to rot, she didn't want the stain on her soul. She smiled unenthusiastically at the thought; reminded of the difference between them. They both wanted each other dead, but he was willing to commit the sin without guilt. She, however, did not want to live with her guilt, breaking her from within, even though Erron Black earned every bit of comeuppance.

Like right now as she forced him to wait with doubt in his room.

Wondering if his enemy would rescue him.

* * *

Night had finally fallen on Z'unkahrah, the time that was destined to be their first attack of their plan, but they were missing the cue they needed.

Tanya and the Tarkatans took shelter in a housing building, killing all the residents inside after they had abandoned the wagons. They were all getting impatient— Tanya included. Rain was supposed to find them once they were in the city and he had yet to locate them.

The female Edenian, still undercover in her disguise, paced along the roof of the building, watching for anything that would indicate that he was nearby.

The city was beginning to grow sleepy and she preoccupied herself with watching the lights in the windows of the stone buildings flicker and die one by one; informing Tanya of how much time was passing by.

She sighed, her eyes looking even harder for some dark, purple clad figure stalking below the streets or jumping from rooftops. Tanya began to believe that maybe his side of the plan had gone poorly until she saw something spark slightly in the sky off in the distance.

On one of the rooftops, a couple of blocks down from her, she saw white jagged splinters, brighten for a moment before disappearing. They appeared again and Tanya smirked; it was Rain using a small percentage of his lightning to give her a simple signal to ask where she was.

She responded by using her own hand to ignite a fireball. It flashed, pulsating and dying as she presented it in his direction. The next thing she heard was the sound of water splashing nearby and turned to see Rain with an outstretched hand; teleporting to where she was.

"About time you decided to join us," Tanya greeted, the corner of her mouth tugged up in a slight sneer.

Rain ignored her and stepped forward as she began to disrobe her disguise and present her yellow clothes underneath.

"Are they ready to commence?" Rain inquired ardently, his voice pompously authoritative.

"With moronic eagerness," Tanya answered playfully sarcastic. She turned to him, an eyebrow raised. "Did you find it?"

"Without difficulty," he assured plainly.

Tanya's smirk broadened, it was all falling together so wonderfully and she was looking forward to their long desired assault on Kotal Kahn. Without wanting to delay it any further, she picked up her naginata that she had placed on the ground near the ledge and turned to him with a smile.

"Shall we?" she asked with a sing-song voice, her hand igniting a fireball in her hand; waiting anxiously to be unleashed.

"Send them," Rain grinned with malicious anticipation. "We proceed to the tunnel."

* * *

Ermac floated towards the missing carriages with his green hands glowing brightly in preparation. Along with him were the Osh-Tekk guards sent to accompany them.

 _Curious..._ the souls within him agreed; all of them seeming to come upon the same baffled judgment.

The carriages had been discarded on the poorer side of Z'unkahrah, near the underprivileged and dissolute area near the docks. It had taken them some time to locate them, but after sweeping the city, the souls were able to mold together the last location of where the carriages were last spotted through the unorganized mess their eyewitnesses provided them.

They had found all the wagons being looted once they arrived behind the cul-de-sac and the Osh-Tekk only managed to arrest a few of them. Currently, the thieves were on their knees off to the side, being watched by other guards, while the others inspected the carriages.

They sensed other beings within the wagons and Ermac knew they were deceased before the Osh-Tekk guard informed him of their discovery. Ermac offered a simple nod as their answer; uncaring of the dead drivers and more interested in why the Emperor's wagons were abandoned in such a manner.

Whispers of conspiracy carried through the vessel like leaves on the wind, begging the other souls to take notice of their words. Reluctantly, the others seemed to come to the same agreement. With the collective in concurrence, Ermac's eyes swept through the buildings, looking for any irregularities.

Screaming was the answer to their speculation and the wraith's head whipped in the direction of where it came from.

Ermac and the other Osh-Tekk caught the sight of people running the opposite direction, pursuing them and cutting them down like foliage in a jungle, were Tarkatans.

A glance towards the wagons was enough of an answer and they all agree unanimously on how the rebels could have entered the city without detection.

They floated in the direction of them, Ermac prepared to engage them as the Osh-Tekk ran alongside him to attack. There were not many of them, only ten bodies that would soon perish.

Ermac sensed him before it let out a voracious and monstrous cry to attack him. Their hand pulsated and souls sprung forth to wrap around the body of the Tarkatan. With a simple command, the souls shot him into the wall and snapped his neck from the impact. The wall cracked, small spider-webs now decorating the wall along with its blood.

Another dared to attack them, and Ermac shot his hand forward, blasting a ball of green mass that sent the Tarkatan spiraling backward and landing into another.

Raising both hands, he lifted them and slammed them together with the clap of his hands. They grunted in pain before Ermac spread his arms wide apart and sent them into the buildings, their heads snapping back and exploding against the hard stone of the buildings.

Ermac and the guards continued their defense, killing the meager force that started to target anyone that came within reach of their arms blades.

Ermac viewed the attack suspiciously. Brutes they very well were, but they were not foolish enough to just begin slaughtering without cause. Eventually, they managed to hunt them down, all the while navigating their way out of the docks and towards the center of the city— the Tarkatans trying to flee.

They caught the last one trying to run, grabbed him by the ankles telekinetically. They lifted him into the sky and rotated his hands in the opposite direction of each other. His body obeyed the movements and the Tarkatan's body twisted painfully; breaking his spine as his legs turned one way and his torso turned the other.

Ermac dropped him with a thud as he saw more people running away, coming in his direction.

"There are more of them!" cried a woman, running by. She went up to one of the Osh-Tekk guards, soaked in blood and pointed a terrified finger near the west side of the city.

"They are setting fires!"

The Osh-Tekk nodded to the woman and turned to Ermac, waiting for them to give the guard instruction. Ermac levitated higher and narrowed the vessel's eyes in the directions being attacked. The souls broiled inside as they saw the small glows of spots being engulfed in flames and brightening the residential districts; confirming the woman's claim.

Z'unkahrah was under attack.

"Inform the Emperor," Ermac commanded. The guard nodded his head and sprinted in the direction of the palace while Ermac left to deal with the areas being afflicted.

* * *

Another of the Kahn's guards noticed the orange embers along the vastness of the large city, along with the screams he could hear very quietly cutting through the night.

Reptile snarled in distemper, his acidic spit leaving his mouth and sizzling on the sand from the dune he stood on. He was several miles away still, but it might as well of been thousands of kilometers. He hadn't reached the city before Rain and Tanya had begun their siege. The realization set a wave of bitterness through him at his own failure.

He did not dwell on it for too long; he knew from overhearing, that this was only one step. There was still time to warn Kotal Kahn— the main prize of their plan.

Reptile flew down the sand dune, almost losing his balance as he ran in the direction of the city. He could still reach the Emperor before Rain and Tanya did.

The battle in the city was a decoy and he had to pass this knowledge as soon as he could.

Their main objective was a surprise attack within the palace walls by use of the escape tunnel. By seeing the city already under attack, it was obvious that the filthy Edenians had found it after all.

It only caused him to sprint his exhausted body towards the city even faster.

* * *

_**To be continued...** _


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12** **  
Bulls on Parade  
Part 1  
** _**The Braying Mule** _

* * *

Even during his time in prison, the block he was locked in never got to participate in any riots. Nonetheless, Bert could always feel the presence of something amiss before the alarm ever sounded.

Perhaps it was his heightened awareness he was forced to learn— a skill many had to sponge up quickly while incarcerated— or just intuition. One of the guard's had told him that it wasn't just a lucky guess; that he should have played cards at a Las Vegas casino and stayed out of trouble.

He could feel it tonight; an anxious sensation that clawed in his chest that he compared to when animals could detect something ill on the wind. Although this time, he didn't have the protection of his maximum-security block, and he had people he actually cared about to consider.

Bert, Bao, Carver and Abigail had been interrupted at dinner when they heard the clamor coming through the walls. All of them had run out the door to make certain of their mutual suspicions and they were affirmed. Even if they couldn't see it, the sound of distant yelling and the smell of smoke in the air was enough for them to figure out they were right on the money.

The uneasiness of having the servant entrances so close to their location and only one guard usually stationed at it worried him. If there was a hostile force outside attacking the city, he knew it would most likely migrate their way eventually. The palace was a shiny, political token waiting to be stormed. Even if they never did, he would still take the necessary precautions.

Bert had thought he heard someone rummaging through the kitchen, but over Carver's prattle he couldn't make it out for sure. Bert pushed his way past Carver and caught the main kitchen door closing. His gut feeling told him it was Norah and he noticed that one of Abigail's water buckets was missing, as well as a ladle from their canister of utensils.

Why would she be coming in here to collect used water for cleaning pots and pans and a ladle?

Also, she had left Ferra's tray of food. He raised an eyebrow; also surprised that she didn't come outside to investigate what was going on outside the palace walls. It left him with a sinking feeling she might not have heard it at all. He had to let her know.

First things first, he needed to take care of the one's he had nearest to him before he could retrieve Norah.

Bert walked across the kitchen and went to his room. Unfortunately, he missed her in the hall and it gave him a reminder to move faster with his actions. Hopefully, he could catch up to her before she pulled too far ahead.

He reached under his cot and felt around for the loose stone he had pried up when he had first arrived at his occupation. Bert knew that Tama had taken part of his prison jumpsuit for her souvenir collection, as well as something of Carver and Abigail's, but he was fortunate she had not found the contraband that he needed tonight.

Bert moved the wrinkled picture of a mother and daughter aside and retrieved the 40mm Glock handgun from the darkness. It was dusty, but reliable and with a full clip; the only ammo he had. He pulled back the slide — arming it and putting a round in the chamber.

"Why do you have a gun in Outworld?" he heard Carver ask him. Bert rolled his eyes at the question, stood and turned to see the others had followed him. They studied him from the doorway as he frowned, his lips pressing together.

"Why _wouldn't_ I have a gun in Outworld?" he asked the younger cook.

Carver hesitated, but then shrugged his shoulders, accepting the answer, "Eh. Good point."

Bert looked at Carver with a small dissatisfied smile. He doubted Carver was capable of even holding a gun, but he knew it would be lost on Bao and Abigail and, therefore, was left with no other option.

"Please tell me you know how to use it?" Bert implored with stoic enthusiasm; he could not believe he was going to entrust it to him, but hoped by some miracle his faith wasn't misplaced.

Carver frowned, "I do. Unfortunately."

Bert could see he was telling the truth, but he was still somewhat anxious.

"There's a round in the chamber ready to go. Don't be stupid with it— fire only if you need to," Bert instructed firmly, handing the gun to him. Carver sighed when he gave it to him but nodded; he could see what he was getting at.

"You think they're going to get in here?" Carver perceived solemnly, a fearful expression on his face that he didn't try and hide from Bert.

"I'm not taking the chance," the older man informed him. "Get in one room and barricade the door."

"Where are you going?" Bao inquired, placing a hand on Abigail's shoulder.

"I'm going to get Norah," Bert promised. "I'll knock on the door for a _shave and a haircut_ when we get back. You know what I'm talking about, right?"

Carver replied with a miffed frown and placed his hand against the door of his room, knocking out the notes easily: _dah-di-di-dah-di, di-dit._

"Seriously?" he questioned dubiously; satirically offended, "My mom used to own a hair salon, remember?"

Bert gave a simple nod and waited until they all filed into one room and locked the door before he ran to catch up with Norah.

* * *

The gunslinger hadn't moved an inch since the cup-bearer had slammed the door closed. In truth, he hadn't the energy to, but it wasn't what kept him sitting in his seat. He had been waiting for some time now and he felt more miserable since she had left him.

She would be back. She was indescribably furious with him, she had made that point very adamantly to him, but they both knew that she wasn't going to let him die. She didn't have the gall.

The more time dragged on, he felt his comfort in his assumption start to dwindle when he thought that there was always the possibility, he could be wrong. Perhaps he had stepped too far out of line with her with how forceful his request for water was. He hadn't asked softly — he was sick, she would have been just as aggressive as well if she were in his shoes. He certainly didn't expect demanding something as simple as water would have ignited the cannon fuse she had. Surprised was a mild way to put it; he never thought she have the audacity to rant like she did, but the more he considered, the pettier it seemed.

If Erron wasn't as sick as he was, he doubted she would have ever been able to strike him hard enough to send him into the chair. He could still feel the angry sting of it on his face. He was certain if he had his strength, the scenario that had occurred would have transpired much differently.

Still, she had managed to and gave him one of the angriest talks he had allowed a woman to give him — well besides his mother— and he rose his eyebrows briefly at the memory of it.

The baker certainly did have a lot on her mind, and as he sat in the chair in silence, it unfortunately had given him a lot to think about as well. Did he really care or want to ponder on it, though? Not particularly, but her words still wedged their way into his brain regardless and he blamed the cholera for it.

The corner of Erron's mouth twitched indignantly. Even he had to admit that he could understand why she was so upset— especially after drawing it out clearly for him.

However, it didn't mean it brought him over to her side of the line.

It had been some time since she left, the sun already set; making his room dark as he suffered in the shadows. She had indeed kept to her word and made him wait longer than he thought she would have.

The gunslinger even started to wonder if she truly meant to come back at all. He needed water and she knew perfectly well he did. Apparently, she was angrier than he gave her credit for. He got it; if he were as pissed as her, he would take his time too.

Erron coughed; hoarse, rough and each one was like a punch in the sternum. He leaned into the chair until his head rested on the top rail. He could feel the bullets in the belt resting behind him rub uncomfortably against the back of his neck as he let out another small order of coughs. He hoped she would quit dragging her feet and get here soon— if she _was_ coming back.

He scoffed slightly at the latter thought. The girl was temperamental with him, but there was no way she could be as hateful as she claimed— enough to leave him to die. Erron couldn't see her having a mean bone in her body, even if she was stretching out his punishment. Although, considering what she had told him, about how she had hoped he had come back to the tavern, it didn't sit well. Why had she been so keen to think that _he_ would come back?

As he continued to wait, his condition growing more atrocious, he did feel a glimpse of what she must have felt that day. Black had to agree that it wasn't the greatest feeling in the world. The sense of dread that she might not return was enough to make him feel worthless. As if the threat of him dying was nothing more than a passing glance that wasn't important enough to acknowledge.

He clenched a fist and sighed; he felt worse when he remembered that he had not even bothered to come back at all.

A small voice of reason shouted in debate stating why he couldn't have: Erron had a job to do. Reptile was there badgering him. There wasn't anything he could have done...

_"All you had to do was lift your gun and shoot him in the back of the head..."_

He sighed deeply, recalling her words to him not long ago. No matter how much he wanted to silence them, he knew she was right. Goddamn it, she was right, and he hated it. He could sense that pitiful feeling of guilt he thought he had buried dig itself out again.

_He was wrong._

_He could have and_ _**should** _ _have helped her._

Erron still didn't like that she had put so much faith in him just because he reacted involuntarily when he saw her get slapped. Erron wondered that too; why had he cared about seeing her get hit across the face in the doorway? He knew it pissed him off when he saw it, but he knew that was not what had angered him. There was something about it that left him feeling he had been acquainted with that exact scene before. The only word he could describe it as was deja-vu.

He wasn't sure if it was the dehydration, being impatient or because he grudgingly felt shame from his forced session of contemplation, but he had enough of waiting for the water.

The ill mercenary picked himself up from the chair and stumbled his way to the door, using the table as a crutch. The movement alone must have aggravated his sickness because the next thing he knew he was falling to the floor, coughing and retching painfully with nothing left in his stomach to empty.

Moving had depleted his energy even more than he thought it would have and started to panic. Every small effort to hold himself up, to dry heave pathetically on the floor like a sick dog, was taxing on his strength. His age was granted with longevity by Shang Tsung, but that didn't mean he still couldn't die, and he was bluntly reminded of that in his condition. Pitifully, he glanced towards the foggy outline of the door and hoped it opened.

Much to his relief it did, and he could see her silhouette carved out against the stone of the hallway in the backdrop. She had a small bucket in her hand, and he could make out the handle of a ladle from it.

She closed the door behind him with a forceful slam, but that is not what made Erron feel the slightest bit of worry creep up.

Her eyes were cold; almost as she regarded him as a nuisance. Maybe it was because he felt vulnerable, but he did not like the look. She looked at him on the floor with a small apathetic smile.

"Your water as so _kindly_ requested."

Evidently, he was wrong to think that she didn't have what it took to hate unconditionally; the callous but level tone in her voice was clue enough for him. With that in mind, he looked at the water as if it were miles away from him; with no hope of ever reaching it.

She just looked at him for the longest time, as if trying to think of what she wanted to do next now that she was here. Erron stared at her with impatience, he couldn't help it; she was keeping what he needed away from him. "Give me... water..."

_**Please** _ _, give me water._

Her eyes darkened even more at him, a boldness in them that would have been frightening to someone else that wasn't him. Black grimaced angrily at her, even though he knew she had the upper hand. He wondered how he was going to handle this when he was able again; he still contemplated how to address it as _nicely_ as he could. She wouldn't hear the end of this.

Her green eyes narrowed at him, her face impossibly deadpan as she shook her head. "You have not learned _anything_ have you?"

He scoffed with discontent, barely audibly, but it was enough for her to hear, because the next thing he knew she marched briskly towards the balcony.

She walked with determination, almost as if she didn't get it out of the way now, she wouldn't be able to do it at all. Erron reached for her as she passed, but she dodged him easily by stepping to the side. Erron heard her snort in disgust at him before she opened the door to his balcony.

Erron could see what her motive was, and he wasn't too thrilled about it.

She kept her eyes forward when she addressed him; her voice still unwavering in its insensitive tone. "Unlike you, I did come back. However, that does not mean I cannot still toss this over the ledge."

He gritted his teeth from his prone position on the floor; he wasn't sure if he was just irritable or felt concern at her words.

The baker turned towards him and he saw no sympathy. "I did not want one before, but now I do. I want to hear an apology for everything you have done, or I will not give you a _single_ drop."

Erron narrowed his eyes at her, her form still foggy, and didn't answer her as he started to breathe laboriously. They both knew what she wanted him to do; she wanted him to beg her to help him.

Even sick, he could see her bluff and he was furious she was toying with him. He wouldn't give her shit; she didn't have the nerve to throw the water over the ledge. Instead, he reached his hand towards the direction of the bucket and he could feel it tremble with exertion; his eyes on the ground.

He heard water dripping on the floor and he looked up to see her slowly tipping the contents out on the balcony in front of him. Seeing her suddenly discarding the water he desperately needed, flooded him with horror. It seemed she _did_ have the nerve after all.

In fear, the words jumped from his mouth. "W-Wait...STOP..."

The cup-bearer he had wronged hesitated for a moment though her stoic expression remained. She contemplated for a moment, but then her hostile look returned. "I did not hear an _apology_."

Once more, she began to tip more water out of the bucket.

He coughed again and this time it felt like an onslaught. He lowered his hand as he coughed onto the ground with no strength to even cover his mouth. Erron couldn't hear her next words; they were garbled in a smog of deliriousness that started to overwhelm him. His head rested on the floor, it was cold, and it provided some comfort despite the amount of pain he was in. He felt some alleviation the more blackness shrouded him... _no fight_... _rest. Fight. Wake up._ He couldn't make up his mind...

It felt as if an eternity passed by him, his thoughts shrouded in darkness that he couldn't comprehend before he felt weightlessness and then a small flood of more pain. It was dull and he felt dizziness from it... it felt like his head had hit something hard.

Erron felt something like a small blissful baptism washing him from within and began to fight through the murky consciousness. More time passed, and he began to get a better hold of himself.

Something lukewarm but welcomed went down his throat and as he saw the mass in front of him with the ladle, he understood.

Water. She was giving him water.

Now he could rest for a bit.

* * *

Even though he couldn't see her, too incoherent in his condition as she shoveled water down his throat, she trembled with rage; absolutely abhorrent with him. However, she was even more so with herself.

After several spoonfuls' from the ladle, she rose to her feet and flung it as hard as she could against the wall of his room. It clattered loudly to the floor and she seethed; completely aggravated.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the knob of his throat rise and fall; his throat working naturally to swallow the water after she had placed him sitting up against the trunk at the foot of his bed.

He seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness and she grew tired of watching him. Instead, she walked over to his balcony and gripped the edges of it tightly with her fingers, turning her knuckles white. She was boiling mad that she had saved him. It was the right thing to do, but that didn't mean it was what she desired to do. She felt no reprieve or virtue and it careened her thoughts into darker depths.

The only thing that ran through her mind was how she felt about herself.

_Weak._

So weak that she couldn't let the man that had wronged her die — the same one that had wanted to see her dead.

Her incapability to claim her revenge festered hotly in her that she was perhaps too kind of a person; that there was some wall that blocked her. At this moment, Norah wanted nothing more than to break that barrier down; brick by brick till her hands were bloody and all her hesitance demolished along with it.

It would have been so easy to let him die. Nobody would have known. She had an opportunity and she stupidly wasted it.

Why couldn't she be the person her anger wanted her to be right now? Why did she let her pathetic sympathy get in the way? Even after this test of humility, he would not apologize. The mercenary was either too egotistical to acknowledge he had been wrong or cared nothing about it. She knew it was probably a combination of both. He would always be cruel to her no matter how much she tried and if he didn't have a reason to kill her now, she certainly gave him one tonight.

Why couldn't she have just let him die!

_Because you are weak._

"I am not weak..."

_Yes you are. You let him live. Now he will kill you._

She slammed her fist against the railing. Norah had been so close; all she wanted to know was that he felt some sort of remorse and have one victory against him. Even with her little test, she had not accomplished either.

He would _never_ admit it.

She hadn't pushed hard enough; she hadn't been aggressive enough and she hadn't been as strong as she thought she was being. Norah was maddeningly furious enough to be capable of it, but her conscious held her back. Her morals tried to remind her she was wrong to want to cause him suffering despite the misery he had inflicted on her; to be the stronger person by not acting out.

_Carver is wrong. There is no strength in showing kindness to your enemy._

Norah heard him groan and she glanced angrily over her shoulder to see him try blinking awake but failing.

_He will kill you as soon as he is well._

Her eyes drifted over to the guns in his holsters. Norah only meant to glance at them because they were in her sight, but inexplicably, she could not tear her eyes off them. Hot tears pricked her already red and swollen eyes. She didn't know which one it was that he had placed against her face, so she stared at both of them with relentless hatred. They were something of his she had constantly feared, and she despised his firearms as much as she did him.

He had made her feel so unbelievably meaningless that night, wanting only to kill her for simply being a bother. Never had she felt as incomprehensibly inconsequential before that night.

Of course, he hadn't, for whatever reason he only knew; she always figured it was because Bert and the others were there. However, with only the pair in the room together — their roles reversed — she couldn't help but feel her eyes land back on the guns and then back to him.

Her eyes narrowed at him dangerously, her chest rising and falling angrily as she recalled that night and everything else. Every little emotion of fear and insignificance she had felt. Every little bedeviled action he had given her. His uncaring and egotistical nature that made her bristle with rage whether he spoke disdainfully or shot her a look of equal measure. What was crowned the winner of all her dudgeon thoughts, however, was the knowledge that she had let him do all this to her.

Revulsion filled her at her internal testimony. In the end, it was her cowardice that had allowed him to treat her and continued to treat her in such a despicable way. She had not once won a quarrel with him because she was so frightened of what he would do. She had no idea what he had done to her this night, perhaps she was truly and forever done, but she didn't feel convinced that she had genuinely felt a metamorphosis; just the longing for one. There was still a small panicking and pessimistic feeling in her that he might retaliate...

_You will always be weak. Erron Black humiliated you. Belittled you every opportunity he had. Brought you here against your will, killed your father and tried to kill you. Will you not at least try to stand up for yourself? Or will you always be this way? Without a single shred of fortitude?_

Norah wanted to prove the malignant voice in her head wrong. She did not wish to be a timid child anymore. She wanted change; to be free and feel something comparable to it again. Even if she was forced to take it in a bloody and undesirable way.

"I am not weak..." she mumbled, her voice trembling in a vehement whisper.

Norah took a step towards the guns.

There was still a way to remedy her mistake of giving him the water. It was sloppy and it would be easy for people to conclude she may have had something to do with it. If it gave her what she had longed desired though, it would be so satisfactory in the end.

_Ever since you arrived here, you have been treated nothing more than dirt. You have been made a slave, beaten, and regarded as something less than a person. It is_ _**all** _ _his fault. He brought you here even though you pleaded with him not to. He does not care about anyone but himself. He was the catalyst to your anguish. The reason you are weaker and more pathetic than you have ever been before. He has robbed you of your life... now rob him of his._

Another set of steps moved her close enough to the holsters resting on his chair. Norah's eyes were blinded by the barrage of tears that stung harshly down her cheeks. They burned, just like the coal she had deep within the hollowness of her chest that heated her body with temptation for what was due to her. What she had been denied for some time.

She wanted freedom of Erron Black from her life.

_Do it or be weak the rest of your life._

Norah's eyes landed on him with a cold disregard; her eyes narrowed at his feeble attempts to try to fight off the sickness. Without taking her eyes off him, she freed the gun from his holster and walked towards him.

The gun was surprisingly lighter than she thought it would be, but there was still an unknown heaviness that weighed it in her hand as she wrapped her finger around the trigger. Norah came along the side of him and looked down at his weakened state for the longest time.

It was much easier to convince herself to kill him without the weapon in her hand. Now she found it impossibly difficult to put the barrel against the side of his head. She stood there for several moments, only envisioning herself putting the gun to his head and firing it, but her body never obeyed the fantasy that ran through her mind.

Norah tried to lift it, but her hand felt lifeless and all she managed to do was swing it in her hand. There was something disappointing about doing it in such a fashion where he was unable to defend himself; she wondered if he had faced the same dilemma with her.

Norah persuaded herself to doubt it and managed to finally place the gun to level it at his head.

It shook in her hand as much as her body trembled with a variety of emotions she couldn't even identify: trepidation, self-loathing, rancor. She was not sure which one suited what she felt best, and it distracted her like a swarm of gnats.

_Pull the trigger._

Pathetically, she couldn't even keep it balanced towards his head and the trigger itself felt cold and unyielding. Everything swirled like a maelstrom within her; both sides arguing passionately on her next course of action. One side told her to put the gun down, to not become him, while the other tried to prompt her that she would feel better once he was dead.

_**Do it.** _ _Pull the trigger._

_Do not do this. You'll just turn into him._

_Pull it._

_This is not right._

Norah pulled the hammer back with a click, and when she heard the sound she let out a shaky sigh.

She had killed livestock without blinking an eye and had attacked a man with a knife out of self-defense, cutting his hand, but never had she taken another person's life. She had never wanted or had a reason to inflict harm on someone for her own personal pleasure.

It was not as if she was not accustomed to death, she had seen it plenty of times, but never had claimed a life to settle her own problems or to avenge a wrong done against her. Norah had seen Outworlders killed over some of the most frivolous things, but she was acclimated to it that she saw it as the natural order. Justice always ended in some blunt resolution in Outworld, no matter how big or small the grievance; public or internal. There was no piddling or twiddling and there was never an opening for discussions. It was swift, and always so ardently bloody to the point.

Here, before her, for the first time was someone she did want to hurt and had great cause to, but still she couldn't do it. Any other Outworlder wouldn't have hesitated, yet here she was still fighting the urge to talk her herself out of her morality, even after all the internal argument it took to get her to stand where she was. Her head pounded with a headache from her indecision and she was forced to release the shaky, jittery breath she had not even been aware she was holding in. _Why couldn't she do it?!_

_He killed your father._

_No. That's not true_ — _Rhen did._

_He turned his back. He may as well have._

There was something else that ate at her; telling her it was incredibly unjust to do it this way. As if it was craven that she couldn't do it with him awake. She could only muster the grit to do it when he was unable to defend himself.

_KILL HIM!_

_Put the gun down, kid._

They weren't her words in her heads, and it was strange that she attributed it to something that Bert would say. It dismayed her for a moment, and she felt her finger pull away from the trigger.

Something gripped her hand and she was jarred out of her thoughts. Norah looked to the left of her and saw why she had heard Bert's words in her mind; he was there in the flesh.

"Just what in the hell are you doing?" he demanded, his eyes as hard as his tone, as he waited for her answer. Unfortunately, she didn't have anything to say and he shook his head at her. To see the level of silent criticism and irascibility he held towards her was something she wasn't even sure she wanted to see from him again. Norah felt intense abashment from letting him see her even consider pointing a gun at someone. What _was_ she doing?

She felt the gun grow slack in her hand, the weight of it becoming too heavy for her to hold up and she let it drop down to her side. Bert snatched the gun from her hand with a roughness she wouldn't have expected him to use with her before he de-cocked the gun.

He walked over to the holster at Black's chair and placed the gun back into it as if it had never left. For several minutes Bert refused to look at her. The tension in the room was unmanageable and she felt it crushing her as Bert stared at the floor, clearly in deep concentration from the sullen look she could see on his face.

"Say something..." she whispered softly.

He walked past her as if she wasn't even in the room and it flooded her with guilt once he closed and locked the door.

Bert let out a deep sigh and lowered his head. "I'm not agreeing what he did to you was right — he has some work to do too — but I was just expecting more from you. You've let me down."

His words sent a wave a shame down on her, drowning the malignant voice in her head that had been her puppeteer; causing it to vanish entirely before a more rational voice replaced it, agreeing wholeheartedly with Bert. Norah couldn't say anything that would have been a satisfactory rebuttal, for her mind was blank except with one thought.

_By the Elder Gods... what had she almost done? This was not her. She was not this repugnant person, she was not..._ _**him** _ _._

Bert looked at Black and then her with a defeated sigh at them both. He seemed to think for a while about what he wanted to say, and eventually she heard him ask what was wrong with him.

"He is sick. I gave him the water," Norah informed him. Her tone was one of disbelief; still too fixated on what she had almost tried to do. She had lost control and it frightened her more than she wanted it to. Her hand trembled and she grabbed it to hide how shaken she was.

Bert shook his head angrily at them; exasperated, "You two sure picked a perfect time to do this shit now."

Norah furrowed her eyebrows at him, somewhat bothered by his harsh tone. The older cook could see that she was unsure of what he meant, and he grasped her gently by the shoulders to lead her to the balcony.

"Didn't you notice Rome is burning?" Bert asked her, throwing an impatient hand in the direction of the marketplace beyond the curtain wall.

Norah blinked; no, she hadn't noticed and she felt somewhat foolish. The baker had been too wrapped up in her own conundrum to see that the city was under attack from beyond the protection of the palace. Norah could hear and see clearly now that her own worries were meager in comparison to what was happening around her and felt somewhat selfish, she had only paid mind to her own battle.

She could smell the smoke from the balcony and heard screaming from beyond the palace. Norah heard running below and looked down to see guards in the training courtyard rushing in the direction towards the entrance of the palace. Why had she not seen what had been going on before? Did it just start or had she been so drawn into her personal struggles more than she had realized?

Black groaned behind them and coughed, finally waking up and turned to see the both of them staring out the balcony. Norah could tell he seemed better and had come around much quicker than she would have anticipated, but she did not linger on the thought too long when she felt her skin prick with rage at him.

He looked over to see Bert there and instead of confusion, she saw recognition: "What're you doin' in my room, Meyers?"

Norah bridged her eyebrows in confusion at the name that she had heard Erron Black addressed Bert with and the familiar tone in his voice. Did they know each other somehow? Black still sounded anemic, and it was apparent in his voice.

Bert regarded him very coldly, almost as much as Norah did, but he brushed it away and went to help him. Norah did not move an inch from where she stood.

"How the hell did you get so sick?" Bert asked him, draping a tally-marked arm around his shoulder before dumping him in the chair. Erron coughed when he landed in the chair, still too sick to really do anything.

"None of your concern," Black countered back irritably. Norah noticed the banter was neither playful nor friendly; just very professional.

Bert went over to pick up the water that lay at the foot of the bed that Norah had used and frowned in her direction when he saw where the ladle lay and the small dent in it. Bert picked up both and handed them over to him.

"Can you serve yourself?" Bert asked him, raising an eyebrow.

Black rolled his eyes before flashing a pointed look in her direction, "Now that I'm not dying."

She felt her chest rise and fall in anger at him. If only he knew how close he had come to dying, he would not be so sharp with his quips.

He continued to suck down water greedily, his eyes not leaving hers. Though he wasn't really doing it intentionally to upset her, just the sound of listening to him drink water loudly was enough to make her blood boil.

He looked down at the ladle for a moment, sensing something off about it and shot a disdainful look at her when he noticed small chunks of food floating in the bucket. It wouldn't hurt him, there was no soap in it, but it didn't mean he wasn't peeved that it wasn't as clean as he thought it was.

Erron Black dropped the ladle in the water with an obnoxious toss: "Thanks for the water, but I still ain't too happy with you. You get that all out of your system, now?"

Norah launched herself at him with enough speed that it startled even the mercenary. She screamed savagely at him, calling him every foul name she could think of when she grabbed him by his hair and tugged hard; trying to rip out what she could. Erron groaned in pain, spilling the bucket on the ground as his hands reached behind him to pry her hands off him. She moved her hands to his face and clawed at the flesh of his cheek.

She managed to hit him in the back of his head, making her knuckles ache from the punch before Bert grabbed her around the waist. She kicked and screamed like a feral cat being grabbed by the scruff, as he dragged her in the direction of the balcony by lifting her up with both arms wrapped securely around her waist. Erron Black rubbed the back of his head where she hit him, a glower on his face; three red lines also drawn on his face from her nails on his cheek.

She scowled viciously at him and shrieked at him: "You bastard! I should have done it—I should have killed you! YOU SHOULD BE _DEAD_!"

Norah felt her feet hit the wood of the balcony and Bert grab her by her shoulders, halting her from attacking the mercenary again before he shook her with enough force to catch her attention.

"Cut it out, Norah! You don't mean it!" he shouted at her firmly. She ceased slightly, her eyes brimmed with tears once again as he stared with tenacious sternness that she shrunk slightly under. He had always been so collected and to see him livid was surprisingly frightening.

He sighed, almost as if collecting his anger together to smother it, before his stony disposition returned: "We don't have time for it."

Black scowled, looking at the small dots of blood in his hand from his ripped scalp, before he looked beyond them at what was happening in the distance. The mercenary saw that the city was being attacked and stood, only to fall back in the chair with a groan.

"Dammit," he grumbled, placing a hand on his forehead.

"You and I both know you're not going anywhere," Bert snapped at him, referring to his sickly state. "You just woke up, so sit down and get comfortable."

Norah stared off into the distance, trying her best to ignore Black while still paying attention to their conversation.

"I gotta get out there," she heard him tell Bert before he coughed. Norah rolled her eyes at his stupidity. How was he going to fight when he was sick? He was so moronic.

"You can't even stand," Bert reminded. "You'll be killed and you need time to get it out. I know you heal fast, but you don't heal _that_ fast."

She felt Bert's voice direct itself in her direction and she only acknowledged him with a small tilt of her head. "You're staying here too. Where I can keep my eye on you, so don't even think about it."

Norah exhaled indignantly out of her nose, "I still have to feed Ferra and Torr," she rebutted, knowing it was a pitiful excuse.

Erron Black snorted in his chair and she threw him a poisonous look. The only thing she wanted more than to throw Erron Black off the balcony was to get as far away from him as possible.

"I think Ferra and Torr will live," Bert told her. Norah gave him an aggravated look.

Erron Black groaned slightly and she saw him jerk his thumb to Bert then in the direction of the washroom. She scoffed as she watched Bert walk over to help him. Honestly, she thought about ignoring Bert and heading towards the door, and had even begun walking before he shot her a pointed look; warning her to stay where she was.

Reluctantly, she obeyed, not very pleased about it and turned her attention towards the balcony. She tried to curb her anger but failed and instead, felt it take root even more. Even with the city burning in the distance, it was not enough to stray her thoughts away of how she should have pulled the trigger and didn't.

_She_ _**was** _ _weak._

* * *

Kotal Kahn stood with his servant, Matlal, on the balcony of his own room as they both surveyed the destruction that was commencing outside.

The Osh-Tekk ruler was told it was Tarkatans laying carnage throughout various points in the city, but Kotal knew better that these attacks were strategic rather than random. With the news of the Edenians joining forces with the Tarkatans, he could not help but look at the attack and see it as a diversion. As D'Vorah had suggested long ago with him with Mileena's army — a two-pronged approach.

There was no purpose in such an attack other than to serve as a lure to draw them out. Also, with Rain and Tanya as architects of the assault, he knew that they were not here to destroy the city as some revenge for being hunted, but to claim it instead. Rain thought he was meant for greatness and destined for the throne of Outworld and Tanya was as wickedly ambitious as he was. Ruining the capital city was not what their intended objective was

With both the Hydromancer and the Pyromancer allied with each other, it did not take long for the Emperor to understand what their true target was.

Him.

A hard frown set itself upon the Emperor's face. They had sacrificed so much with Mileena's rebellion, suffered so many casualties and he would not let all he had built crumble under the arrogance of two, greedy Edenians who were not fit to rule. Outworld would never bow down to the pompous demigod as their new ruler. Unless, Rain had made arrangements to stifle the future uprisings his rule would incur. He would make sure the Edenian never reached that step.

Kotal Kahn glanced at the night sky with a dirty look, knowing full well why this battle was taking place at night. The Osh-Tekk were sluggish at night and Kotal knew from their last encounter — when he defeated both Edenians —which they would only try a second time when his strength was depleted. It was cowardly and expected of both Rain and Tanya.

_Let them try._

Kotal Kahn was no fool, but he was not unsympathetic to his people. He sent as much Osh-Tekk as he could spare to assist Ermac and Erron Black (who he understood were still in the city). Ferra/Torr would remain behind with him and Matlal to wait for the Edenians to make their move on the palace. He also had his own personal guards to spare, but he did not expect a large swarm on the palace.

Kotal Kahn knew that Rain was capable of teleporting and it would be no trouble for him to carry Tanya as a passenger, but he was unsure how many Rain could teleport at a time. He suspected that it wouldn't be many, but before Rain had the opportunity to transport too many, and overwhelm them, he would eliminate the Hydromancer first.

He would deal with Tanya and the other Tarkatans last. From what he understood, they were scattered throughout the city, but there were not as many as he thought. It made him contemplate that perhaps Rain would send for the other Tarkatans around Outworld, or enlist help with outside parties, to hold the throne. Again, dread settled within him at the abominable thought of Rain succeeding.

"Should I mask myself?" Matlal asked the Emperor.

"Perhaps it would be wise," Kotal Kahn conceded, "Inform the guards to light the pyres. I will have Ferra and Torr accompany me for the meantime."

"You do not want the personal guards?" Matlal questioned.

"The personal guards will be for you to employ," Kotal Kahn reiterated with a simple nod.

"Yes Emperor," Matlal concluded, understanding his intention and left the balcony.

Kotal Kahn gave one last sullen look towards the city, hoping to end the conflict with the Edenians quickly so he could focus on what was more important. The Emperor marched over to his weapons closet and pulled from it his macuahuitl and his tecpatl dagger before he exited his room. He headed in the direction of Ferra and Torr's area, knowing they always remained in there if not assigned to tasks.

He passed by other Osh-Tekk guards, all of them running to their posts when they saw the pyres start to light in the windows of the domed spires. Signaling that an attack on the palace could be imminent and to prepare.

Kotal Kahn passed by female servants on his way to Ferra and Torr's room, and he made sure that they were on their way to their rooms by affirming with them that they saw the pyres. He was still hesitant about it, maybe it would simply be Rain and Tanya able to get into the palace, but any male servants he passed, he made sure they knew to arm themselves in case a breach did occur.

Eventually, he found his way to Ferra and Torr's area and they saw their Emperor walk through the door immediately. Ferra jumped from her hammock and landed on Torr's shoulders as the brute marched with his partner to Kotal's spot at the open door.

"Big Bossy need we?" she asked him. Her tone was somewhat ornery, but he could tell it wasn't directed at him, as she poked her head over Torr's shoulder: "Ferra/Torr hear yellin' — keepin' we awake!"

"Yes, Ferra, there is a siege outside of the walls," he enlightened with a definite tone.

Ferra's eyes widened mischievously before she cackled with glee, "We play Torr!"

Torr roared in response, his arms wide as they started to make their way towards the wall before Kotal Kahn halted them by holding up his hand; they had misunderstood.

"No," the Osh-tekk corrected sternly, "You are to remain with me inside the palace walls."

The female symbiote gave a heavy, disappointed pout as Torr's shoulders slumped. She groaned with sadness; crestfallen that they would not be able to partake in what was happening outside. Kotal Kahn couldn't help but let a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth at her childish despondency despite the dire situation.

"We shall await for the Edenians to come to us," he reassured, "Then, you and Torr shall have all the participation you long for."

Ferra's eyes brightened at his words, "Tawny and Splashy?" she inquired, her interest elevated with youthful delight. "We squish _both_!"

Kotal Kahn nodded his head as a simple answer. He was pleased and surprised that his words made in impact at dinner. He honestly assumed that Ferra had no desire to listen to politics so he was reassured that she understood who he was referring to and could skip explaining who their foes tonight were.

"Bang-Bang and Mac-Mac help too?" she questioned him with a frown and vexed tone; her eyes narrowing as if selfish about the speculation she might have to split the kill with the other guards.

Kotal Kahn smiled at her eagerness, "Just you, I and Torr."

Ferra wooped slightly before a chortle escaped her as she patted Torr's head. "We still play Torr."

Torr roared again and made his way towards the wall once more. Kotal Kahn followed his guards as Torr picked up Ferra and placed her on the edge of the wall before Kotal Kahn felt Torr do the same with him.

The Emperor jumped from the wall first and caught Ferra under her arms as she jumped as well; he knew that she was capable of landing just fine but assisted anyway. Kotal Kahn placed her down and both moved out of the way as Torr's hands grappled the edge of the wall and pulled himself over with a series of strained grunts.

Kotal Kahn and Ferra felt the ground shake slightly when Torr pulled himself over and landed in front of them. The brute breathed heavily, somewhat tired from pulling his bulky and heavy form over the ledge. Ferra turned to him and he raised an eyebrow.

"Can Torr have door?" she asked nonchalantly.

Kotal Kahn let out a small chuckle, "When he learns not to damage them any longer, I shall see to it and dispense with the wall."

Ferra nodded and ran up to Torr who scooped her up before placing her on his back.

Her eyes darted around with destructive enthusiasm. "Where Tawny and Splashy? We want stomp guts out!"

Kotal Kahn walked alongside the symbiotic pair with a heavy glower and without an answer to give, also wondering himself where they could be.

* * *

The final attack on the palace was forthcoming. However, it would have occurred much sooner if not for one, aggravating little fault once they got out of the escape tunnel.

Rain had forgotten where the entrance to the catacombs were.

Tanya and Rain turned a corner only to find themselves at yet another dead end that earned another set of collective groaning from the Tarkatans that had exited out the escape tunnel with them. They had all been so eager once they had gotten inside the palace, now they were severely annoyed and trudged bitterly behind the Edenians.

"At this rate, Rain, we will not have to worry about killing Ko'atal ourselves — he will have died of old age by the time we find our way out," Tanya mocked lightly, although the frown on her face was unamused. Some of the Tarkatans grumbled in agreement.

Rain shot her a heated glare, "Silence Tanya!"

The Tarkatan commander that was also with them mumbled something in his native tongue and by the sound of it, was as irritated with Rain. Whatever it was that he had said, Tanya agreed. Rain was a moron.

"Should we split up?" offered one Tarkatan from the back.

Tanya could see Rain's mouth curl up into a snarl even with the purple mask covering most of his face; she rolled her eyes in response. Rain pushed past them all grudgingly, and they followed behind the Hydromancer as they continued to wander lost in the catacombs.

It took them several attempts in the dark, before Rain finally located the entrance and they all spilled into the palace.

The catacombs were one level below where the main dungeons were and when they saw the lack of guards stationed, Rain and Tanya threw each other a pleased look as the Tarkatans raced past them; eager to cause havoc in the palace.

Any of the guards they did encounter were slaughtered easily either by their more than ambitious allies, or the Edenians themselves.

Tanya threw one of her yellow tonfas at one of the guards that charged them. Unfortunately, he managed to block it with his sword by batting it out of the way. He ran for her as she walked casually towards him. The Osh-Tekk guard slashed his sword at her, raising it above his head to bring downward. Tanya moved in close, blocking the sword with the back of her forearm. She dipped down and pulled the sharp sickle edge of her remaining tonfa towards her to cut deep in the back of his calf, buckling him to his knee before she impaled him in the throat with the long barbed end; the tip exiting out the back of his neck. He gurgled in pain, went silent and fell backwards to the floor, freeing it from his throat without Tanya having to tug it out.

The two Edenians heard movement from behind and Rain shot lightning at the guard. He cried out in pain and writhed on the floor; the smell of cooking flesh pungent in the small, stuffy hallway.

Another guard ran around the corner and thrust his spear forward to cut across her cheek, which she dodged by stepping to the side. He shot the spear at her again, on the opposite side, and she countered by bringing her leg up and pushing the junction between spear tip and staff with the dip of her heeled boots flat against the floor. He released the spear and tried to throw a hook at her, but she was faster and sunk her sickle into his gut and pulled it horizontally towards her; spilling his entrails on to the floor. With a strangled groan of pain he crumpled to the floor and Tanya sighed in boredom as she walked over to retrieve the sibling of her weapon from the floor.

"A lot quieter than expected," Tanya commented with a raised eyebrow. She noticed that Rain ignored her and instead eyeballed the various cells in the dungeon. It did not take her long to piece together what he was contemplating.

"I think they have earned a reprieve," she shrugged at Rain, flashing a small wink as well. Rain nodded slightly and picked up the keys from the body of the guard that Rain killed. There was another Tarkatan foot soldier with them and he tossed the keys at him.

"Let them loose," the Hydromancer ordered plainly.

The Tarkatan nodded with a malignant grin and started to release each prisoner one by one. They were pleased to be released and even if they did not want to seek revenge, and flee for their freedom, they would serve as an adequate distraction, nonetheless.

One of the prisoners passed by them but stopped when he saw her. Tanya felt her eye twitch when he heard him walk up behind her; leaving little space.

"Pretty yellow bird — ARRRGH!"

He screamed in agony when she twirled her tonfa with a sour look on her face and planted the sickle end between his legs from behind.

"Disgusting, _gelded_ rat," she quipped back, before she lifted her leg towards her chest and struck him hard in the face with the tip of her boot; breaking his nose. The force of the kick detached him from her tonfa and left him sobbing and bleeding on the floor; wailing like a banshee as he bled heavily from his groin.

She noticed Rain watching with a droll expression in his eyes as he looked at her before he glanced at the dirty prisoner dying on the floor, "I would wash your weapon if I were you. His filth may have tainted it."

Rain turned his back, just as Tanya's lip curled up in a snarl at his sarcastic comment. Disregarding his joke, she followed behind him as the two finally made their way into the palace.

* * *

Reptile finally managed to locate Ermac in the city after battling his way through the thick smoke that blanketed Z'unkahrah. Even for him, it was difficult to maneuver his way through the smoke from the buildings burning. Thankfully, it was made simpler after Reptile managed to find the green streak in the distance that darted from Tarkatan to Tarkatan.

The coldness of the night was heated by the fires that the city's tenants did their best to smother, but still most of them raged relentlessly. It placed the city in a dirty haze of smoke that he and others choked on as he sprinted his way towards where Ermac was; the mystic having no difficulty with the smoke and dealt with the Tarkatans as people tried to keep the fires from spreading further.

Reptile heard something run up from him from behind and rolled forward to avoid the blades that swiped at his head from behind. He turned around, hunched in a kneeling position, and spat in the direction where the Tarkatan was.

The Zaterran smiled when he heard the agonizing scream and saw him flail with his hands covering his face; pieces of his flesh melting off and sizzling in the sand. He fell to the ground while Reptile continued his trek towards Ermac.

Yet another Tarkatan, alerted by his fellow comrade screaming, ran towards him. Reptile raced forwards and blocked the Tarkatan's bladed arms with the top of his forearms; the tips of the blades missing and encircling around the top his face. He kicked for his kneecap and felt his lip curl up in a smile when he heard the gratifying snap of bones breaking and saw the Tarkatan's knee bend in the opposite direction. His fanged tooth assailant howled in agony before he was silenced with three claw marks to his throat.

Another came for him, trying for an overhand strike to hack down into his shoulder but missed as Reptile ducked forward. The Tarkatan lost balance and stumbled forward before Reptile hugged him from behind and curled both of his claws deeply into the Tarkatan's stomach and pulled his hands apart in opposite directions; spilling his intestines.

He snarled and proceeded towards Ermac's direction. His eyes darted around, also trying to look for the other of the Kahn's bodyguards in the smog.

Reptile heard something next to him and snapped his teeth when his feet were taken out from under him from one of the Tarkatans sweeping his legs. He rolled to his feet but felt one of the arm blades cut him slightly on the scales of his back. The Tarkatan drove both of his arms forward; trying to skewer him on both blades. Reptile tucked his body in enough to avoid them as his hands grabbed both wrists. He pulled the Tarkatan's arms apart, giving him room to step in before he spat acid at the brute's face.

The Zaterran nodded in satisfaction as he writhed on the ground, screaming his last.

Reptile rolled his slit-pupil eyes in annoyance as he passed an alley, tucked his body to avoid getting barbed, grabbed the Tarkatan by the arm and pulled him out with a growl. As the Tarkatan worked to regain his footing, Reptile swiped through the air and felt his claws sink into the flesh of the Tarkatan's cheek — opening the entire side of his face — before he dug his nails under his jaw so far up he could feel them exit out the bottom of his mouth and lightly touch the roof.

He held the head of the slack Tarkatan and pulled his hand free. He swiped his hand through the air, flinging off the excess blood before he continued on his journey towards Ermac.

Another charged him and he unlatched his tongue, wrapping it around the Tarkatan's leg and pulled it towards him while he released it. The Tarkatan landed hard on his back and before he could rise to stand Reptile planted a foot on top of his chest, and spat acid. He flailed underneath, the flesh sizzling off of him, and Reptile left him to rot on the ground.

Finally, he was close enough to see Ermac's form through the haze of smoke and watched as he sailed forward and drove both legs into the stomach of the Tarkatan he was fighting. The Tarkatan sailed on his back and Ermac floated over his head and dropped himself on top - breaking his skull and killing him.

Ermac glanced over his shoulder to see another try to take advantage of him with his back turned - Ermac simply lifted him and threw him into one of the burning buildings across the street. There was a groan of agony barely audible over the roar of the flames from the window before Ermac turned to see Reptile approach him.

"The Edenian wretches have found the escape tunnel," he cited. "We must go. Warn Ko'atal. This is but an illusion."

Ermac's eyes widened slightly in alarm and then narrowed as he looked in the direction of the palace. They both noticed the pyres lit and knew what their new priority was: protect the Emperor.

With a simple nod Ermac and Reptile abandoned the strife happening outside the palace and headed towards the one they knew was about to commence inside the safety of the walls.

* * *

Rain walked inside the palace with a pleasant demeanor, Tanya by his side as they watched the Tarkatans with them mow down any Osh-Tekk guards that dare to fight them.

The palace would be deemed his soon enough and it was a magnificent feeling to see how much of a victorious dominance over the battle they had. They all perished under his small force. Everyone from male servants that tried to foolishly attack, to Osh-Tekk that were left to hold the defenses in the palace, as well as slaves who couldn't hide fast enough were eliminated. Tanya was also exuberant about their triumph, both of them confident that they would finally win even though they had not located their prize yet.

With both Tanya and Rain, it would be no difficult task to kill the Emperor when he was powerless without the sun. Rain acknowledged a previous engagement when all it took was some storm clouds to eclipse the sun to bring him to his knees. Now, knowing that the sun would not break the horizon for hours, killing the false ruler would be uncomplicated.

However, the Hydromancer had to say he was displeased that he noticed that fewer and fewer of Tarkatans started to accompany them. Most of the others rummaging and killing throughout other parts of the palace — as they searched for Kotal Kahn. Even though they were winning, the Osh-Tekk were fighting vigorously and had managed to kill some of the Tarkatans.

More Osh-Tekk rounded the corner, Rain counted five that the Edenians and the three Tarkatans with them could dispose of.

A silly little insect dared to unsheathe his sword at him, preparing to try and wound him with it before Rain suspended him in a large water bubble. He smiled darkly as the Osh-Tekk inside tried feebly to break out. Dark amusement washed over his face as he saw the Osh-Tekk silently screaming within, drowning painfully, before Rain released him. The guard dropped to the floor, soaking wet and with no life in him to cough up the water in his lungs.

He turned to see Tanya dealing with her own guard with little trouble. She delivered a brutal uppercut, a sharp hook from her opposite hand before she gave him a snapping kick to his stomach.

Doubled-over, Tanya brought her leg up, curled it and struck him in the back of the head hard with the back of her heel— sending the guard face down to the ground with a cry of pain. Using the tip of her opposite foot, she snaked it under the blade of his fallen sword, lifted it with a jerk, caught it and stabbed it into the middle of his neck; nailing him to the stone ground.

Tanya caught him staring and flashed him a supercilious look by raising her eyebrows quickly before scoffing at the Osh-Tekk he simply drowned; as if silently telling him he was lazy.

Rain rolled his eyes at her as she walked to catch up with him, the last two Tarkatans with them taking the lead.

They heard clambering, something shatter and saw the prisoners that they freed chasing a few screaming servant girls across the hall. Soon after, another Tarkatan rounded the corner and raced up to them.

"Kotal Kahn has been spotted," he informed them with a growl. Rain nodded and let the Tarkatan lead the way.

They passed by a large hallway with a series of arched entrances that led to a balcony that ran parallel to it and frowned when they saw that the spires were glowing. It did seem odd that once they had reached the inside of the palace, they were greeted with more resistance than they initially thought they would.

Tanya gave Rain a glance, her eyebrow raised and he grumbled. Kotal Kahn knew they were here already.

"It matters not," Rain assured.

"May I pose a question since you ignored it last time," he heard Tanya request with a brusque tone.

"What is it now?" Rain demanded curtly.

More Osh-Tekk rounded the corner and Rain stepped to the side, grabbed his forearm and kicked his foot into the knee of the guard. The guard fell forward with a groan of pain before Rain drove his knee into his jaw, breaking it before letting him fall to the floor.

Tanya withdrew her tonfas and blocked the sword edge that came for her exposed midriff. "How do you consider" — Tanya hooked the sword down and punctured his chest repeatedly with the point of her other one — "we hold the palace after we kill Ko'atal? You have failed to mention that _little_ detail."

Rain used his forearm to block the arm that wielded the sword before he brought the heel of his hand up to smash it into the guard's throat; earning a dazed gurgle. Rain grabbed his wrist that held the sword, swept his legs, sending him to his back and forced the hand and the sword towards his chest; stabbing him with it.

He flashed an indignant look Tanya's way, "Do you not trust that I have a strategy already?"

Tanya tossed her yellow tonfa, the weapon whizzing through the air at Rain. At first he thought it was meant for him until it sailed passed and the sickle-end landed in a guard's head; breaking through his helmet like it was nothing. Rain saw a small trail of blood pour from the guard's eyes— the same eyes that were crossed— before he fell with a thud backwards.

"I would just like to hear it. We are _partners,_ are we not?" Tanya pestered, her eyes dark with suspicion.

"We will discuss this later — after we have killed him," Rain grumbled.

He walked ahead, but he could feel Tanya's eyes boring into the back of his head with severe distrust. He knew that she could tell that he brushed the subject away purposely, even if she didn't comment further. Rain honestly, didn't feel like confiding in her at the moment when they were busy; besides, she annoyed him and he would much prefer the silence.

His thoughts were set on killing Kotal Kahn at the moment and control could be dealt with as soon as the Emperor was dead. There were more Tarkatans they could use and manipulate and now that they had access to the Kahn's gold, the Earthrealm syndicates could be purchased. The Hydromancer honestly thought it would not matter in the end. The throne was his by his divinity anyway and any that discredited it would be dealt with severely. Rain's eyes slid to the side, his thoughts on the Pyromancer behind that would surely try to undermine his authority the minute she found an opportunity.

_Partners. For the moment._

It wasn't his primary focus at the present time.

Right now, he wanted to find Kotal Kahn and claim what was his once and for all.

* * *

_**To Be Continued...** _


	13. Chapter 13

** Chapter 13   
** **Bulls on Parade  
Part 2** **  
** _**The Dogs Attack** _

* * *

Norah paced impatiently on the balcony of Black's room with nothing but the activity happening to hold her attention— and failing to. She felt guilty that she couldn't put more focus on what was going on in Z'unkahrah, but her encounter previously with Black played continuously in her head, and it was enough to deter her thoughts.

Even after they had taken a break from each other, Norah felt less than content. In many ways, she was afraid, but only because she knew the moment he discovered she had placed one of his guns to his head, she would have every reason to be frightened. She had become unhinged, more so than she could ever recall being with a person. In a way, it scared her more than the thoughts about what he would do to her once he found out.

In hindsight, she also felt the exact opposite and couldn't find the need to care anymore if he did or not. The less rational side of her, the angrier side, argued that what she had done was needed and honest, even if others would not necessarily agree with it; one of them being Bert. Her only fault about this was that she didn't actually go through with it, and there was nothing to celebrate.

Nevertheless, there was some perverse empowerment holding the gun to his head she couldn't identify and felt despicable for wanting to relish in. It continued to persuade her that she should continue to act in a similar aggression towards him despite the reality that her actions might bring her an undesired retaliation from him.

She scoffed at the thought of the expected vengeance he would deliver to her. They both knew it was coming, and the only fact she regretted was that Bert had stopped her. The way she saw it, no matter if she was scared or not, was that in the end, he had forced her hand. To do whatever she thought necessary to end the abusive period of tribulation the gunslinger gave her from the start— no matter how detestable or brash.

_It would not have been right to of shot him while he was unconscious and sick._

_You are right. It would be better to do it while he was awake— so you can see the smugness wiped from his face._

_You are not a killer, nor deserve the right to be one._

_But no one would argue that you did not have a sound reason._

_I don't want to kill._

_Coward._

She ran her hands over her face. Her moral conundrum plagued her, and she was ambivalent about whether she made the right decision about not pulling the trigger.

Or if she even could have.

Bert had made the decision for her with his intervention. Still, she couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if he had not been there to scorn her. If she would have truly gone through with it despite her reservations. Norah couldn't lie to herself; Bert's words had cut but not for the reasons he had intended.

The more she thought about what he had said, the more she felt the wound fester at her already harsh assessment of her incapability to kill someone who had done her wrong. There was also another issue with Bert's intervention that bothered her greatly. A small suspicion that, granted, she was letting spiral a little out of her control as she paced the deck of Black's room.

Erron Black had no issue when it came to killing anyone, and yet Bert had not reprimanded _him_ for it. Perhaps it was because of their mysterious previously embedded friendship was why he was so eager to aid him and show her more contempt for her actions. She felt somewhat like a cast out at the assumption, especially since Bert was supposed to be a friend of hers.

Norah wouldn't call it jealousy, but it was something similar and far more poisonous. She couldn't recall Bert giving Black a belittling word when there was a gun placed by her head. Nor any feelings of disappointment with her character— yet she was the one being treated like a child! Who was Bert to judge her? His transgressions were far more irreversible than hers!

She exhaled hotly out of her nose and crossed her arms over her chest as she paced with her ire green eyes on the door.

They had remained in the closed washroom for some time now, and she could hear their voices muffled through the wall. The only time the door had opened was when Bert had dug through Black's cabinet adjacent to the balcony and pulled one of the mercenary's black sleeveless shirts before gathering his boots and hat from the floor.

Bert had flashed a pointed look before he returned into the washroom that she understood; warning her to remain in the room till she had permission to leave. It had been exceedingly difficult to stay in Black's room after that look. Bert being the only shackle that prevented her from moving, and she was beginning to feel her will pull towards ignoring him.

She could hear them arguing heatedly in the room about whether he was fit or not to leave; the only conversation she was able to make out through the wall. Bert argued against him leaving, and Norah couldn't help but feel a sense of betrayal enter her thoughts. Why did he care so much for him? He had done nothing to deserve it from what she had witnessed.

Norah couldn't be his room any longer, and she didn't care if Bert would be angry with her.

She passed by the washroom, looked to make sure that Bert or Black hadn't heard her move and opened the door to Black's room. She exited out, closed the door and marched in the direction of her room briskly.

A small weight of tension lifted off her chest when she left the room, although she still wiped a small, frustrated tear with the back of her hand that had escaped on its own accord.

However, when Norah rounded the corner, she wished she had listened to Bert and stayed.

A scraggly beast of a man halted when he saw her, and she did the same; mostly out of fear than surprise. He was in rags and she could smell him from where she stood. When he saw her, she recognized the smirk that he gave her and it made her blood freeze. She noticed that his hair was as greasy as his skin and had red rings around his wrists and ankles blistered red on his flesh. She knew they were from irons and that this was undoubtedly a prisoner.

A prisoner walking free in the palace that she had the misfortune of encountering.

She had taken Kotal Kahn's advice and concealed her knife in a more hidden location — around her calf — but she doubted she would be able to reach it in time. He glanced at her perversely up and down as she heard yelling coming down the hall; making her eyes dart past him.

He took a step towards her, and she ran — running for the only safe spot she could think of.

She ran as fast as she could, but the pounding footsteps behind her of him giving chase made it feel as if she was running so slow she wasn't moving at all.

Norah had almost reached Black's room when she felt him grab a chunk of her hair from behind and pull back. She cried out in pain, her head snapping back, as she felt some of her hair ripped from her scalp. He grabbed her from behind, picked her up and she screamed involuntarily in horror.

On instinct, she felt her elbow connect with his nose as he threw it back as hard as she could. Her elbow flared in pain, and she heard something break; like a snap of a wooden branch.

He growled in pain and dropped her on the ground with a thud. She glanced back briefly to see he was more than displeased. He glared at her, ruthlessly furious, as two symmetrical streams of blood poured out of each nostril as his chest rose and fell with each heated breath.

"You little bitch!"

She turned to flee once again but felt him grab her by the throat from behind, making her let out a strangled groan from her crushed windpipe before he tossed her into the wall hard, earning a loud yelp from her. Before she could twist around, she felt him grab her by her hair again and slam her forehead against the stone of the wall.

Norah hit the ground before she even realized she was on it and her vision blurred with painful intensity. She blinked when she felt him roll her on her back. When she felt his weight on top of her and each of his hands on her thighs, it was enough to snap her awake and she shrieked in anger. She continued to scream while throwing her hands in wild punches towards his face. It all earned grunts of pain from him as he tried to clamp her hands into a vice while he also moved to straddle her waist.

"GET OFF OF M — !"

She screamed again, this time muffled as she felt his hand cover over her mouth harshly. Norah could taste sweat and blood on his palm as she continued to scream through it. Her eyes blazed with a mixture of rage and terror as she whipped her head under his forceful grasp. She felt one of his fingers push past her lips by accident, and she opened her mouth, letting it fall in more before she sank her teeth hard into his flesh. He groaned out in pain, and she tasted blood before he managed to withdraw his hand from her face.

Norah reached for his face, trying to hunt for his damaged nose but he swatted them away.

Thinking quickly, Norah brought her right leg as close as she could to bunch up her skirt to reach for what she needed. She felt the handle and pulled it out of the thick piece of cloth tied tightly around her calf and grimaced when she felt it slice her skin as she drawled it out.

Norah aimed for the side of his neck.

The second he caught her wrist and felt how strong he was despite his emaciated state, it was then she wished she had refrained from grabbing it at all.

They glared fiercely in unison at each other, Norah with determination while his demeanor portrayed savage anger as they fought for control of the knife. Both of them using their hands to push it at one another. They both knew he had more strength than her and she felt trepidation at her disadvantage being pinned underneath him. At this point, even with the tip pointed at his neck, she was pushing while he was trying to pull the knife towards her.

Incomprehensible dread filled her when she felt the knife start to point in her direction as he buried his fingers in her wrist with a bruising grip. As the blade began to hover down, inching down closer to her shoulder, her eyes widened in fright and she moved one of her hands away for his face.

His other hand shot out and pinned her wrist to the ground and she held her breath when she felt the tip of the blade scratch against the thin layer of protection her shirt provided.

She had her eyes squeezed when she felt the point dig uncomfortably into the flesh under her right collarbone. Norah heard herself whimper a pathetic _'no'_ before she screamed involuntarily from the white-hot pain that shot through her shoulder and chest.

She could feel her flesh separate against the steel intrusion, the muscles peeling away as her strength faltered by the pain and gave him leverage to push the tip in deeper.

A sudden shower of blood coated her face and chest at the same time her ears rang. His slack released and she heard him fall slowly on the ground next to her. She didn't know why and only focused on the piece of steel and the scorching pain she felt explode across her chest and shoulder from each frightened breath.

She wanted it out of her and with a pained moan she reached over and grabbed the handle. When she did, it sent a burning twinge inside her skin while she felt her eyes brim with tears.

Norah sucked in a breath, held it, and ripped it out with a wail; the muscles afflicted tearing even more by the suction she felt as she pried it out. She opened her eyes and noticed the ceiling was blurrier than usual as she rolled on her side; blood already soaking her shirt and skin heavily like someone placed a hot, wet washcloth on her.

She looked up to see Erron Black standing outside the door with one of his six-shooters in his hands. He had a shirt, hat and his boots on again, appearing to be feeling better although it was obvious he was still wrestling with remnants of the cholera with each small cough. Even with the wound in her shoulder, causing her to grimace in pain, she frowned heavily that it was _his_ bullet that had helped her.

He saw her ungrateful look, lowered his revolver and shrugged his shoulders lightly at her; as if silently telling her he wasn't happy about it either. Bert rushed over to help her as she struggled to stand with the knife still limply in her hand. Bert lifted her while he pressed his hand over her wound causing her to hiss.

"Didn't you hear me say _not_ to pull the knife out?" he questioned brusquely, his eyes hard, but she could see that he was thankful she was alive.

Norah shook her head; she must have been too focused on the pain to hear him. She heard something rip and looked down to see Bert tearing a part of his black shirt to wrap it around over the top of her shoulder, under her arm and over the wound. Bert gave a small sympathetic look before he gripped both ends and gave a sharp tug. It earned a whimper of pain from her, the cloth tight as it tried to smother the bleeding.

"Keep your arm —"

Bert never got to finish what he was saying when they heard a macabre chorus of growling coming from the end of the hall. She heard Bert curse under his breath as Norah felt the color drain from her face when she saw 5 Tarkatans looking in their direction when they rounded the corner.

The prisoners loose were bad enough, but the Tarkatans were far worse.

They seemed to look past her and him and when she turned her head to look at Erron Black, she made the connection of who they really wanted to sink their teeth into more than them.

Kotal Kahn's guard.

They ran for them and Norah felt Bert all but drag her towards Erron Black's room. Black fired his gun again and she didn't bother to look back to see if he managed to hit his target. Bert shoved her in first, followed by him then Black, who fired another shot.

All of them seemed to have the same idea and turned around to push the door to close it. Before the door could latch, an arm blade snaked its way through. The door buckled underneath them as the other Tarkatans on the other side tried to push in.

Norah, Bert, and Erron Black grunted as they attempted to keep the door from opening and spilling them into the room. Norah was at the far end, pushing with her back, with Bert in the middle and Black trying to avoid the arm blade that swung for him.

She could hear them snarling and grunting; wanting desperately to get in and she was fearful they might for a moment. The mercenary aimed his gun through the crack in the door and shot at the Tarkatan that kept the door pried open with his arm.

The arm fell out of view and they managed to get the door closed, though unlocked. Bert and Norah moved towards where Black was, putting more weight on the end before they managed to hold the door steady. Norah pushed the wooden block across the door with her good arm and latched it closed while Bert and Black held the door.

As all three of them backed away, they watched the door bang loudly on its hinges. They held their breaths for a moment, wondering if the door would cave in. Much to their relief, the door held up for the moment, but they were still adamant about trying to get in. Norah started to see more shadows being cast through the cracks in the door; there were more of them on the other side.

"So much for leavin'," Black grumbled bitterly, his eyes narrowed, as he refilled the chambers of his revolver.

After catching a moment, Norah looked over her shoulder to see movement beyond the balcony. She walked over to it, trying to get a closer look and noticed the palace crawling with Tarkatans.

They scrambled around the walkways that overlooked the training courtyards below like a plague as they fought any Osh-Tekk or person not of their campaign in their way. More ran into the courtyard below before Norah saw Bert and Black look over the balcony to see what had grabbed her attention.

"How in the hell they get in here?" Norah heard Black complain through his teeth.

Bert sighed with a shake of his head: "It doesn't matter. They're in here now."

The sound of something heavy hitting against the door made her jump, and for a moment she thought they had managed to get in. The door began to buckle in; splintering as they heard the Tarkatans grunting from the other side. Erron and Bert also noticed and approached hastily.

"It's not going to hold," Bert announced apprehensively.

"No shit," Erron Black agreed. He cocked his revolver and tilted his head towards the cabinet at Bert. "Go get my rifle."

Bert nodded slightly and walked over to the cabinet to open it, retrieving Erron Black's ivory rifle from within. Bert hooked his thumb underneath the lever action and pumped it, making it click before he turned to her.

"Stay there," he instructed her.

She agreed silently, placing her hand on her bloody shoulder and feeling it stain her palm, as they walked over to the door. The cook and the gunslinger approached the door, leaving her behind them as they stared intently at the wooden door. Bert raised his gun to his shoulder and turned to Black, who had his revolvers aimed at the door.

"Shoot them through it?" Bert suggested indecisively.

"Only if you want to ruin the door and get them in here faster," Erron countered.

The door splintered and Norah took a step back out of instinct. She saw an arm blade cut through the broken section of the door and pry away the cracked section. The piece gave away to reveal a fanged mouth on the other side that snarled for a moment before his head exploded from Black's bullet.

The door continued to camber in and with the small fissure in the door, they could see that there were several more than they thought on the other side.

Seeing Black shoot through the opening, taking out the single Tarkatan, gave her an idea through the muddled mess of her panic and pain as she turned towards Erron Black's cabinet. She wedged the fingers on her uninjured arm between the wall and the thick piece of furniture and much to her disappointment it only groaned a couple of inches forward. The action sent a flare of pain through her and she squinted her eyes shut.

"What're you doin'?" Black asked her with annoyance.

She gritted her teeth at them, "Move this in front of the door so only a portion of it can open. Then shoot them one at a time!"

Bert's eyes widened for a moment before he exchanged a glance with Black, who seemed irked that he didn't think of it himself. Without another word, Bert ran over to assist her on the other side of the cabinet.

"We'll funnel them," Bert said. He looked over at Black, who was still standing where he was. "You gonna help Erron or are you going to just stand there?"

Black rolled his eyes but rushed over to help as well. Bert and Norah managed to slide the cabinet away from the wall as Black moved around it to push against the back of the heavy dresser. It was hard to move and all of them grimaced in a combination of struggling to move it and the screeching it made against the floor of the room.

Norah looked up to see that the door began to fall apart, revealing more openings where they could see the Tarkatan's ever-present malicious grins looking in with glee that they were almost inside.

"Wait!" Black shouted, stopping them. "Turn it around — my ammo is in here."

Norah and Bert paused for a second but then complied, understanding that they would need access to the cabinet doors. They pushed, moving it counterclockwise until the doors faced towards the gunslinger.

"Push on the other side," Black told her, as he came over on her side. She did just that as Bert started to teeter the cabinet over. She pushed with her back, digging her heels into the floor, as Erron Black pulled, sending it on its side and blocking the door, except for a small section where the lock was.

Even on its side, it covered the open sections created by the brutes trying to get in, making it an acceptable blockade. However, sending it on its side caused Black's contents to sprawl on the floor; sending his clothes and metal ammo boxes to the floor. Black sighed irritably at the mess but ignored it as he went over to the door.

Bert also came to his side, placing the butt of the rifle on his shoulder as he pressed his cheek against the gun to look down the sights.

Erron glanced over to her. "Get the lock," he ordered with a nod of his head.

Norah went over to the door, scrunching herself as much as she could with her back pressed uncomfortably into the roof of the furniture. She reached across her body and grabbed the wooden lock as she waited for them to signal her to unlatch it. Norah could feel where their shoulders and feet hit against the other side of the door and it, unfortunately, sent a wave of pain through her injured side each time.

"Ready?" the gunslinger asked the older cook. The corner of Bert's mouth tugged; a silent yes.

"Don't shoot me by accident," Black jested with a grouchy tone; as if Bert may actually.

"I know how to use a gun, kid," Bert scolded.

"I'm older than you, idiot," Black corrected with a frown.

"You don't look it... _kid_ ," Bert threw back with a smile.

Norah waited, gulping, as she looked at the both of them. They stared intently at her, letting her know to pull the latch and with one swift movement and she did. The moment the door was unlocked, the door opened little by little from each assault on the door, before the first Tarkatan was able to squeeze in.

He was greeted into the room with a single shot from Black's revolver before he collapsed dead in front of them. Norah ducked into a crouch and stayed on the ground; not really of any help as she felt the door begin to open inch by inch, and stupidly they filed in. All of them too eager to kill and met by a bullet by either Bert or Erron Black's bullets as a welcome.

One of them must have seen her through the cracks of the door, because suddenly an arm blade plunged its way through the wood. Norah could see the small dents and caked blood on the blade as it missed her nose by mere inches. Another shot rang and she saw the Tarkatan's shadow slump on the door on the other side. She looked over the blade to see Black cast a side glance at her for a moment. Bert pumped the rifle and looked at the gunslinger as well; a small pile of Tarkatan heads poking out of the doorway.

"They're backing off," Bert told him, his eyes still fixed on the door.

Norah breathed a sigh of relief. Black gave a glance at her arm, then to the arm blade still stuck through the door before he shook his head. Bert and Black pushed the bodies of the dead Tarkatans out of the way of the doorway before Norah rose carefully, avoiding the blade and locked the door.

Black walked towards the direction of the balcony, letting his empty cartridges spill on the floor carelessly, before reloading with the bullets from his belt and flicking the chamber close. He stopped in front of her for a moment but didn't say anything. Instead, he gave her a strange look that she could not place; as if contemplating something to say that was neither cruel nor kind. His eyes did harden for a moment and she glared in return.

Whatever it was he had on his mind was interrupted when she heard Bert come alongside her. Black walked off, marching towards the balcony as Bert examined her further.

"You alright?" he grimaced with concern.

"Yes, it is nothing," she told him. Bert raised an eyebrow at her, both of them knowing it wasn't merely a scratch.

"I'll be right back; this is soaked through," he said, indicating to the makeshift bandage he gave her earlier. He walked towards the washroom and returned with a couple of white cloths a few moments later. The bleeding was tapering, but the wound still leaked and it hurt worse than the branding did. Bert removed the black bandage and placed the white cloth against her shoulder, causing her to squint her face in pain from the pressure he applied. He put the other white cloths to the side for a moment on the table.

Norah cast her attention away from her shoulder and turned to watch as Black looked at the movement below from his position on the balcony. He sank to his knees and placed his arm against the railing, holding it steady. She noticed the gun move slightly sideways along the plane of the railing, as if tracking someone's movement before he fired— but he had also let out a cough as he did. He cursed under his breath, probably from missing his intended target and twirled his revolvers back in his holsters.

Black noticed Bert's attention towards her and frowned.

"She ain't dying," Erron Black jabbed with a drone. "But if it's really that important to you and you're done with my rifle, there's a needle and some string in my trunk. You can sew her up with that."

The corner of Bert's mouth picked up in annoyance before he tossed the rifle towards Black, who caught it easily. The older man softened, a sincere smile of sorry on his face before he patted her cheek gently and went to Black's trunk.

Norah walked over to Erron Black's chair by his table and sat down while Bert rummaged through Erron's things. Black marched over from the balcony and grabbed one of his ammo boxes without so much as a glance in her direction.

She wasn't sure what it was, but it was almost as if the tension that had been clouding the air previously had settled. It still didn't mean the two felt anything but enmity towards each other. Norah wasn't sure if the excitement of the Tarkatans almost getting in, or because the palace was under attack, but she found it surprising he didn't bring up anything about what had happened before.

As soon as his rifle was loaded, he set to work— picking off whatever Tarkatans he saw running down below.

She decided to glance at the floor and noticed her knife among the mess; she didn't even recall dropping it but must have when she went to move the cabinet. With a scoff, she lifted herself from the chair and plucked it from the ground. She frowned at the layer of blood two inches in length on the blade— her blood— and thought he had plunged it in deeper; it felt like he did. With a sigh, she wiped it on the fabric of her skirt before lifting it and placing it back in the cloth tied around her leg.

Bert came back a couple of minutes later with a needle with a spool of thick, white thread and a jar with clear liquid she recognized and thought she would never see again. There wasn't much left, perhaps a cupful, but the grudge for it and its owner returned in her like someone gave air to dwindling fire.

Bert unscrewed the cap on the jar and gave a whiff. After he was finished grimacing in repulsion, he turned to the mercenary. "Is this _moonshine_?"

Black fired a shot, looked over his shoulder and lifted his head in a lazy nod of acknowledgment. Norah rolled her eyes at his gesture before she saw Bert hand her the liquid in his hand.

"It tastes awful, but it'll dull the pain," Bert informed her.

"I remember the taste," Norah replied, casting a resentful glance at the gunslinger's back. "I would rather endure the pain."

"Are you sure, Norah?" Bert asked with a concerned look.

She nodded before she watched as he dipped the needle in it before he grabbed another clean white cloth behind her and tipped the jar to soak the material.

Bert waved a finger at her and cleared his throat uncomfortably; asking her silently to lower the bloody side of her shirt so he could do what he needed. She rolled her eyes but dropped the right side enough for him to get access; all the while holding her left arm horizontally of her chest for modesty.

He sighed and placed the cloth against the wound— earning a pained yell from her when he did.

"Sorry," Bert sincerely apologized, wiping the blood away. He gave her a small, unsure smile. "You sure you don't want to drink it?"

"Yes," Norah answered with a hiss; her eyes closed.

Bert gave a chuckle. "I stand by my previous statement after your _Marking_ then. You're a tough kid."

Despite the pain, and the company in the room sharp-shooting nearby and whatever their previous history, she smiled in appreciation at Bert's words. She still felt foolish for letting herself get wounded, but she felt warmth from the small bit of credit Bert gave her.

"Thank you, Bert," she whispered with gratitude.

"Don't thank me just yet, kid— we haven't gotten to the worst part, yet," he chuckled softly as he threaded the needle with the string.

She turned her face away, not really wanting to watch, and whimpered loudly in pain when she felt the small pointed end of the needle run through her skin. She placed her forehead on Bert's shoulder, hissing in pain as she sought comfort from the stinging. He didn't seem to mind as he continued to pull the string uncomfortably through her.

They heard pounding at the door and looked to see another Tarkatan face through the small hole in the door. Erron Black noticed it too and with almost a bored expression, turned away from the balcony, aimed and fired.

His head blew apart and they returned back to what they were doing prior to the interruption.

Norah moaned in pain, burrowing her face into his shoulder as her eyes wept and gripped the material of her shirt with her left hand; white knuckling it.

As he continued to help her, fixing her shoulder, she regretted her previous thoughts of animosity she held towards Bert. Norah remembered why she thought of him as a friend and she was thankful for him being here with her; she seriously doubted Black would have been as thoughtful to suture her wound.

She was unsure how Bert felt about her at the moment since the last time they talked moments ago, he conveyed nothing but disappointment with her. He seemed to forgo his previous thoughts for the moment, but she could still see him glance at her somewhat with the same conviction.

"He knows," Bert related to her in a somber tone. "I talked to him."

Norah felt a wave of dismay and chagrin run through her at the testimony, but before she could address it, he quelled her fears.

"He isn't going to do anything."

She squinted her eyes in suspicion at the words. "Why?"

"Because despite his stupid thick skull, I think he understands, even if he won't admit it," replied Bert. She wasn't really sure if she felt convinced since his tone still held a small morsel of uncertainty.

Norah noticed out of the corner of her eye, Black cast a glance over his shoulder before he turned his attention back below and fired another shot.

"How can you be so sure?" she asked him guardedly.

"I just have a way of telling because of my previous experiences," Bert answered with a sullen sigh; as if recalling something unpleasant. "You know the thing about revenge is, while you think the issue is resolved and you'll get some false peace of mind from it, in the end, you end up chained to it and all that changes over time is that the weight gets heavier. Even if you can find forgiveness for what you did, you're still dragging it around."

"Did you kill someone Bert?" she asked with a blatant and melancholy tone.

He didn't pause, but she heard him sigh. "Yes, Norah I did. Someone I cared about."

Norah's heart sank at the testimony. "Why?"

She felt the needle stop and she saw his head lean forward. "I ask myself that all the time and I've never found a good answer for it. Back then, I thought it was because she lied when she said she loved me. I was just too ignorant and loaded I don't even remember, to see that she really did."

"I am sorry," Norah told him. She regretted that the words sounded somewhat hollow; unsure really of what to say.

"Don't be. I earned my torment," Bert replied before he resumed. She let out a small whimper as the needle went through another layer of skin.

She felt his hand at the back of her head, smoothing her hair; a small way of comforting her and apologizing for administrating pain despite it was a necessity. The gesture seemed alien to her and she thought of recoiling from it, but in a way she didn't even know she had been longing for it. Not even her own mother had done anything similar and her father hadn't been an everyday practitioner in tiny, silent actions that let her know that he cared. His hand both ripped out her heart and filled it with shame at the same time, and she didn't prevent the tear that ran down her face and soaked into his shoulder.

"Kid, you ever read _Hansel and Gretal_?" he questioned lightly, almost as he knew he was asking a rhetorical question.

"No."

"Well, to cut it short, the kids use breadcrumbs to find their way home after they wander lost on the trail. There's a witch they have to kill and they end up shoving her into her own oven. They return home and they live happily ever after."

Norah raised an eyebrow in confusion at the story. It did seem somewhat familiar, perhaps her father had told it to her once before.

"Anyway, the point I'm trying to get at here is you're starting to wander down the path Erron and I have. I don't particularly like that at all, by the way. I don't want you to lose your way. Even if you got to beat the birds away, make sure you find your breadcrumbs to get back."

She absorbed his words with a frown. Although, she understood completely what he was telling her, and she now could discern why he had been so upset that he had seen her with a gun to Black's head, she still had a hard time still accepting that Black could relate. If he did, Norah couldn't help but wonder what had sent the mercenary down the same metamorphic trail to begin with.

* * *

Tanya and Rain had finally managed to locate Kotal Kahn in a small open training courtyard. When they reached it, they noticed he was also accompanied by several of his personal guards doing their best to battle off the Tarkatans trying to reach the center of their tight circle — the Kahn in the center.

Although it looked like Kotal Kahn at first glance, there was something about him that sent a small flutter of suspicion through her. She narrowed her eyes, studying him as he fought with his snake-headed sickles and killed his own fair share of Tarkatans. She could not explain it, perhaps it was just her naturally distrusting nature when it came to all things, but the way he moved seemed different from when she last fought him.

He was a decent fighter, yes, but the way he fought seemed more inept. Also, she wasn't sure, but he seemed to of shrunk a couple of inches in height.

Tanya shrugged it off and twirled the handles of her yellow tonfas absently. She noticed that Rain was staring at her as well with an incredulous look and she could tell that he also had the same conjecture about him. They said nothing to each other and proceeded into the circle.

The Pyromancer ran for the center as Rain accompanied her on the left; both of them skirting around the smaller fights between the Osh-Tekk and the Tarkatans. A couple of them managed to break off the squabble with their Tarkatan and, seeing the Kahn in danger, flew with haste to stop them.

Rain stepped out of the way and attempted to drive the point of his elbow into the back of the Osh-Tekk's neck, but failed when the Osh-Tekk rolled forward out of the way. Rain narrowed his eyes as the Osh-Tekk swung at him but managed to block his sword hand with the back of his forearm. The Osh-Tekk swept Rain's leg out from under him, causing the Edenian to fall to the ground to his back. He stabbed at him, but Rain rolled out of the way in time, jumped to his feet and delivered a hook across the skull-mask of the warrior's face. He extended his arm out and caught him in a large water bubble; subduing him.

Tanya charged towards Kotal, unwilling to wait for Rain, and found herself face to face with another of the personal guards that meant to stop her.

She blocked the sword with the long body of one of the tonfas. Tanya hooked the sword down, making it catch on the sickle, but he untangled it and swiped for her head.

She ducked, the sword almost grazing her, and flipped the end of her other tonfa up and drove the pointed end into his abdomen. He screamed in pain and tried once more to swing the sword at her head that she quickly dodged before planting her other tonfas sickle into the side of his neck.

She pulled them out, watched as he fell forward, and gave a small smug chuckle and turned around to be greeted with a fist by another Osh-Tekk guard.

Tanya wobbled back, caught by surprise before she glowered and charged him. Unlike the other one, he did not have a sword and she felt sad that he would not be as a challenge. The Pyromancer swung the sickled-end for his throat and frowned when he caught the outside of her forearm and gave her a knee to the stomach. Tanya hunched over from the blow, tried to stab for his knee cap with her other weapon, but he shrunk it back in before he swept her leg and placed her on her back.

She hit the ground with a groan, his grip still holding onto her forearm. He meant to stomp on her stomach, but Tanya put one of her spiked heels to the ground, lifted the same leg and straightened her other leg to deliver a sharp blow across his face with her foot. His head snapped to the side and he released her forearm, allowing her to roll backwards to her feet.

Quickly, she threw one of her weapons and felt a grin pull on her face when it landed just below his navel; it was not her intended target but close enough. He cried in agony, his hands reaching towards the bladed weapon and distracting him long enough for her to drive the other tonfa's long, pointed barb through his throat and exit the other end. She reached down, grabbed the handle of the tonfa buried low in his torso; her hand still on the other tonfa.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you it's _impolite_ to strike a lady?" Tanya sneered playfully before she pulled out the tonfas in unison. The Osh-Tekk fell limp as soon as she freed them and she fixed her attention on the Osh-Tekk she really wanted to harm.

Tanya raised an eyebrow as she heard electricity zapping and the cry of pain and looked over her shoulder to see Rain lifting one of the guards by the neck and electrocuting him with a bolt of purple lightning.

With his skin burnt and peeling off in flakes, Rain dumped him to the ground and joined Tanya.

Kotal Kahn stared at them, his blue tattoos glowing a little dimmer due to the fatigue the night gave him, but stared at them both with hostility nonetheless; a warrior's determination burning in his eyes.

Tanya snorted at it, "The _face_ of Outworld!"

Kotal Kahn narrowed his eyes, "Also its voice."

Tanya tilted her head at him; although his voice was deep and baritone, but the way he delivered his words seemed less imposing than their last encounter.

"Yes, about your voice," she began, her eyes dark with both amusement and doubt, "It does not seem to bring any warm feelings of familiarity."

His face was deadpan at her declaration and Tanya disregarded it for now since Rain didn't comment as well; she noticed he did narrow his eyes with suspicion, though.

"We will silence it, nonetheless," Tanya spat, shaking the blood off her tonfas with a jerk while Rain's hands glowed with an amethyst hue.

Rain shot lightning that Kotal Kahn missed by rolling to the side, barely regaining his footing before Tanya was upon him. He managed to block Tanya's sickle by catching it with the curve of his own and pushed it away. Tanya tried for his unguarded side, but he blocked it as well with his other weapon. He push-kicked her away, earning a groan from her as pain flared across her exposed midsection.

Kotal swiped at Rain's head, who barely managed to lean to the side out of the way before Kotal managed to cut the side of Rain's bicep with the other sickle. Rain growled and clutched at his wounded arm as Tanya ran for him once more.

Kotal raised his arms over his head and brought both snake-headed scythe weapons down upon her, but she blocked them with the bladed bodies of her tonfas; she glared at the decorative serpent's fangs that barely reached her face. He planted his foot on her knee, causing their weapons to unlock as she stumbled back with a cry of pain; her leg bruised and aching but not broken.

Rain threw a hook that Kotal Kahn blocked with the outside of his arm-guard, before swinging for Rain's head with his other hand. The Hydromancer ducked out of the way before side-kicking into the Kahn's torso. He groaned but advanced, hacking his weapons through the air that the Hydromancer dodged with each step he was forced to take back to avoid being sliced again.

With Kotal focused on Rain, she tossed one of her tonfas but frowned when he batted it away before it could land in his sternum. Rain roundhouse kicked him across the face, causing the Kahn to spin on his heels.

Tanya summoned a ball of fire within her palm and chucked it at him, but he leaned out of the way and ran forward towards her. He tried to slice her with the thorns on the outside of the scythe with a backhand, but she blocked his massive forearm with her smaller one. He attempted to cut her from the side but was ripped away from her by a jet of water that pushed him away.

He landed with a grunt on the ground and jumped to his feet. Rain teleported behind him and push-kicked him in the back. The Kahn turned and swiped at Rain, who ducked low before upper-cutting Kotal in the jaw.

With him preoccupied, Tanya ran to retrieve her discarded tonfa. As she bent down to retrieve it, she noticed one of the personal guards pull his sword from a Tarkatan's chest, give the Kahn an unsatisfactory look and darted off.

She looked to the side and noticed that two other guards also followed and watched their retreating forms with a puzzled expression.

_Now, why would personal guards suddenly abandon their Emperor when he was clearly in danger?_

Tanya heard something cutting through the air and dropped to her chest, laying it on the ground quickly, as one of the Osh-Tekk's scythes missed the back of her head. She grounded her teeth and rolled back to her feet, both tonfas in hand.

Rain blasted him with a jet of water, forcing him backwards, before he raised an outstretched hand and summoned lightning where Kotal Kahn stood; electrocuting him. The Kahn quivered in pain before Rain ceased and blasted him with another powerful stream of water; sending him on his back.

Rain teleported once more and reappeared in a kneeling position next to his head. Rain grabbed the Emperor by the neck and pummeled his face with a series of brutal punches. Kotal Kahn dazed, but not completely succumbed, gave him a hook of his own. The Hydromancer landed on his rear but before he could roll to his feet, Kotal Kahn sprang up and delivered a crushing knee to Rain's chin.

The Hydromancer snapped to his back with a cry of pain, landing on his back as Tanya ran to aid him. She used her smaller stature to her advantage and ducked low, sliding her knees against the stone and sliced deep into the back of his thigh as she passed.

He grimaced in pain, the back of his thigh bleeding heavily, before she whipped her body around, stood and stabbed both sharpened barbed points into his muscled back. He cried out in agony. His back arched backwards as she brought both of her feet up, sank her spiked heels into his flesh and used him as a platform to both backflip and pull her weapons out in unison.

Kotal stumbled forward in pain before Rain grabbed the back of his feathered headdress and brought his head to his knee, breaking the Osh-Tekk's nose.

He fumbled back, bewildered with pain before Rain twisted his body sharply and delivered another roundhouse kick across his face. He fell to his knees and managed to block Rain's knee with both hands before it crashed into his face, but it didn't save him from the sharp hook across the side of his cheek.

The injured Kahn landed on his back and before he could pick himself up, Tanya threw her tonfa. She smirked at the cry of pain he let out when it hit its mark in his palm, penetrated through and cemented his hand into the stone. He flimsily raised his other hand and Tanya threw the other yellow weapon and copied her previous throw; now pinned to the ground by both of her tonfas through his hands.

Kotal Kahn gritted his teeth in misery, his palms bleeding profusely. The Edenians hovered above him with delectation. Despite that they had beaten him, Tanya couldn't help but feel a small sense of being let down; even at night, she thought they would have received more fight out of him.

Tanya noticed Rain looking at her with his arms crossed over his chest; his eyes silently conveying the same feeling as her. Tanya shrugged, perhaps they were both giving him too much credit.

"The oh, so powerful Kahn, who thinks so little of us," Tanya mused, her eyes dark. "Which would explain why the price for our heads is so cheap. Do you reconsider your insulting set price, now? You have to agree, Ko'atal, that our skills at least bump up the price a little."

"Perhaps you wish to revoke the bounty you have placed altogether being at our mercy —" Rain gave an annoyed huff as he was interrupted by a Tarkatan racing up to address them.

"Kotal Kahn has been spotted —" the words stopped dead in his mouth when he saw who was pinned to the ground and blinked in confusion.

"That is impossible," the Tarkatan mumbled with disbelief, "I saw him myself!"

Tanya and Rain looked at each other, seeking confirmation that they agreed they may have been deceived. Rain sighed in annoyance as he dropped his crossed arms while Tanya clicked her tongue and shook her head at the trapped, counterfeit Kotal Kahn. She knew there was something wrong about him, now she knew why.

"You are _not_ the Kahn," Tanya stated blatantly, her eyes hard.

"Where is he?" Rain demanded, taking a step forward.

Despite the pain, the decoy lifted his chin proudly with a warrior's hubris; not willing to say a word to them. His loyalty irritated the both of them.

"We are _not_ amused," Tanya declared with an ireful tone and a scowl on her face.

Without another word, and miffed that their time had been wasted, Tanya walked forward, lifted her foot up and stomped it into his chest brutally hard.

His eyes bulged as he cried out in horrendous pain, her foot buried so deep she could feel the stone floor through the layer of flesh she hadn't managed to break through with her heel. He was still alive, though, and she brought her other foot up over his face, her knee high and sank it into his mouth; crushing his face in.

Just as she felt the blood warm the leather of her shoe, she lifted the boot in his face out, earning a sickening, soggy and scraping sound as she freed her foot. His torso lifted slightly as she stepped back on her bloody shoe and raised the one in his chest, producing the same grotesque sound.

Tanya looked down at her soaked boots with a small, saddened sigh as his blood started to stain the leather and turned to glance at Rain, who had an eyebrow raised at her.

"Do you have something to _say_ to accompany that look?" Tanya prodded, the corner of her mouth tugged up; waiting for him to say something stupid.

He said nothing and waved a dismissive hand her direction before he followed behind the Tarkatan; letting him lead ahead to where the true Kotal Kahn was.

Tanya had let out a small _'pfft'_ before she went over to pry her tonfas out of his hands. She grabbed the handle and tugged, only to find that it would not budge. She placed her foot on his arm and pulled— it would not move. She huffed and went over to the other, giving it an attempt before she sighed in displeasure that it would not come out as well.

She still had her naginata strapped to her back, the poor weapon going unused this entire time. The Pyromancer shrugged indifferently before she kneeled next to his head and gave a small, derogatory pat on his bloody forehead in mock comfort.

"Hold on to them for a moment if you would be so kind?" she asked the corpse with sarcasm, "I will return shortly to collect them."

* * *

One of Kotal Kahn's personal guards ran along the parapet wall searching for his real Emperor somewhere in the hazardous labyrinth of the palace. He knew that the Kahn's double, Matlal, stood no chance against the Edenians and he had to make sure he was aware his deception may have been discovered.

They were meant to serve as a distraction, meant to cull the Tarkatans away from Kotal Kahn and annihilate the small force that had infiltrated the palace. Although, they were not informed of Rain and Tanya as part of the assault.

He had been on his way to warn Kotal Kahn when he had been cornered by 2 Tarkatans chasing him along the pathway along the curtain wall of the palace. His sword had been lost and he was retreating to gather an unused one lying by another Osh-Tekk guard that lay dead beside it.

He dove for it, grabbed the hilt and plunged it into the stomach of the Tarkatan that ran into it. The other Tarkatan swiped his arm blade and cut him across his chest before he managed to roll out of the way— unfortunately forgetting to withdraw the sword from the other Tarkatan's torso.

He rose to his feet and held up his arms, the outside of his forearms meeting the inside of the Tarkatan's to prevent him from cutting him in a deadly embrace.

The fanged monster tried to chomp at him and the Osh-Tekk struggled to keep him at bay as his teeth snapped at him loudly inches away. He kicked, hitting the hideous brute's kneecap and causing him to fall to one knee. The Tarkatan howled in pain before he overpowered him and managed to break the block. The Osh-Tekk had to dive away, a horrible cut now in his side and hit the ground with a cry of pain.

He rolled on his back to see more Tarkatans running towards them along the wall and the one he was fighting standing above him and bringing his arm back.

He never did get to impale him due to a green, humanoid, covered in a brighter green mist fly over the wall towards him that the guard recognized. The Osh-Tekk rolled out of the way as the Tarkatan paused and sensed something amiss.

Reptile, sailing through the air, saw the Tarkatan who happened to be in his path, grabbed him with both hands on each side of his head, flipped over and pulled the surprised Tarkatan towards him as Reptile landed on his back. Using momentum, he planted his clawed feet into the Tarkatans ribcage and pulled him over his head and over the ledge of the wall with the push of his feet.

The Tarkatan screamed on the way down until his neck snapped on the ground of the courtyard below. The Zaterran jumped to his feet and threw a snarl at Ermac, who floated with ease over the ledge of the wall.

"I said gently!" he spat with annoyance at the hooded mystic.

Ermac didn't respond and instead turned his attention towards the other Tarkatans that made their way towards the three of them. The Osh-Tekk pulled the sword from the body of the dead Tarkatan as they unsheathed the blades from their arms and engaged them.

Reptile lept on top of the nearest one, knocking him down and standing on his chest before tearing at his throat with a couple of savage swipes with both of his clawed hands. A Tarkatan aimed his blade for the Zaterran but failed when the Osh-Tekk's sword slit his throat, causing the beast to twist on his heels and fall on the Tarkatan behind him.

Ermac placed both of the Tarkatans in a telekinetic hold and pushed them away from the group, causing the pair to bowl into the other 4 Tarkatans still advancing on the walkway.

They fell with annoyed grunts before one screamed in alarm when Ermac dragged him from the group by his foot. Ermac lifted his victim up and turned him upside down until his head levitated over the ground. Ermac dropped his hand and caused his head to fall violently towards the ground—breaking his neck.

Another charged them and Reptile spat a pool of acid at his feet. The Tarkatan noticed in time and skidded to a halt, however before he could retreat, Ermac wrapped a green bind around his head and forced his face into the pool of acid. The Osh-Tekk grimaced, the sound of sizzling barely audible over his gurgling screams of pain as he boiled to death face-first in the acid.

His body went limp and the last 2 Tarkatans used their dead compatriot like a stepping stone over the pool of acid. One of them managed to dodge one of Ermac's telekinetic balls of energy and the mystic blocked the arm blade, punching the Tarkatan once in the stomach and the face. Ermac hooked him across the face, spinning the Tarkatan to face the other way, before Kotal Kahn's guard, twisted his hands, pulled them away and ripped the Tarkatan's body in half right down the middle— soaking the other Tarkatan in his blood.

Blinded by the spray of blood, the Tarkatan faltered, wiping it from his face before he felt excruciating pain engulf his chest and let out a scream. His entire back, including parts of his ribs, organs and flesh exploded when Ermac passed energy into his body and forced it out the other end.

The Osh-Tekk guard nodded in satisfaction and with the threat of them eliminated, informed both guards of the dire situation.

"The Edenians found the Emperor's double," he told them, holding his bleeding side with his hand. "We must warn the Emperor of this. It will not be long until they discover that he is a deception."

Reptile and Ermac looked at each other, then back to the guard.

"Where is the Emperor?" Ermac questioned, his tone forceful.

"I do not know," he answered regrettably, "but we must find him quickly."

Reptile turned back to Ermac, his eyes widening slightly as if a thought crossed its way into his mind. "Ferra/Torr and Black are still within the palace— Ko'atal would not linger far away from them."

"Erron Black is indisposed," Ermac corrected before he nodded slightly. "The Emperor will be with Ferra/Torr."

"Let us hurry," Reptile stated ardently, "They cannot be far and neither can those filthy wretches."

* * *

Ermac was indeed correct; Kotal Kahn had not wandered far from the symbiotic pair's side. Despite the size of Torr, the brute and Ferra were able to remain relatively quiet as they bid their time.

Most of the Tarkatans ran along the outside walls, choosing to attack the guards and rummage through the palace. Ferra/Torr and he stayed on the outside, fighting and killing any that ventured near the courtyards by the housing units of the palace.

He was still hunting for Rain and Tanya, who he assumed were probably doing the same. Even though the Edenians chose to do this engagement at night, they had done so when the hour was late and the Osh-Tekk ruler knew that he would not have to wait long for the sun.

A mistake on their part that he would use to his advantage.

Matlal was a good warrior, they had trained many times together, but his servant understood the risks impersonation would bring him if Kotal Kahn ever decided to use such a ruse. He had a heavy heart regarding it and the Kahn never thought he might need the trick, but it was a necessary tactic to deplete Rain and Tanya's force.

If they found them before the sun, so be it. However, it did not hurt to have the option of a backup plan. Especially of the grave possibility the combined force of Rain and Tanya might actually prevail even with Ferra and Torr by his side.

He knew the two would not depart far from one another, but he doubted they would remain in the company of Tarkatans who had other chores in the palace to work on. Tanya didn't concern him as much as Rain did and he was detestable to the fact that he may be transporting more soldiers in and could overwhelm their numbers.

Even with the male servants assisting, they were not warriors— especially when there was both an unexpected ally and foe that had not been taken into account. It turned out the prisoners in the dungeons had escaped. Although some were eager to skin a piece out of the Kahn's hide— which the Emperor and Ferra/Torr took care of with little effort— some opted to partake in whatever pleasures they were presented in the midst of the chaos.

Some were not as deplorable as the others and either assisted with the Tarkatans from either self-defense or because at the moment, the ones that imprisoned them were reluctant partners who did not want to see the Tarkatans take over the palace.

One prisoner actually aided both of them and he was surprised he did not request anything of leniency for his efforts. Kotal Kahn knew he could not escape the palace if he wanted to, but perhaps he thought helping the Emperor that had imprisoned would earn some gesture of good faith so the Kahn would reevaluate his sentence. He had suspected this theory and it was why he questioned his motives.

The prisoner's reply: "You are not the one that placed me here— I am responsible for that and accept whatever punishment I am due. I have made peace with it."

The Kahn gave him permission to leave after that, the discussion was satisfactory enough to let him leave despite that he left his cell. Before he had left, he informed him that it was Rain and Tanya that had freed them all. Even with the small amount of information provided, knowing that Rain and Tanya passed by the dungeons on the way left Kotal Kahn to believe they might have used the escape tunnel located near the catacombs. The two were not far from each other and it meant that there could be more in the palace than thought previously.

It irked him that they had found a route that could be easily exploited. Once this was over, he would destroy that bothersome tunnel like he should have done a long time ago; this time his council couldn't talk him out of it.

The familiar sound of gunfire he attributed to only one individual, echoed across the palace and made him tug the side of his mouth in confusion. He had thought Erron Black to be outside the palace walls along with Ermac and he wondered what the former Earthrealmer had been doing the attack; since now he was only hearing his firearms go off.

He was close by; he could tell by the loudness of the discharge which he grew accustomed to being in Black's presence.

"Bang-Bang!" cried Ferra, looking down from her perch on Torr's back.

He gave a simple nod in response before he heard rapid footfalls of charging Tarkatans springing out of the doorways and running for them. Kotal raised his macuahuitl and tossed it at the obvious easiest target— or rather _targets._

The heavy, wooden sword impaled the Tarkatan leading the group, exited out his back and only stopping inside the chest of another Tarkatan that happened to be behind him. Two for one.

The Tarkatan speared in and out, fell backward and landed on top of the unfortunate partner behind him, pinning the other to the ground as his body slid down the club with a wet scraping sound.

The ground shook underneath his feet and he stepped out of the way as Torr charged the group of Tarkatans with Ferra cheering loudly as they bowled down the unlucky Tarkatan that didn't move out of the way quickly enough. He flew and Kotal Kahn heard the bones of his back snap as he hit the stone wall; he was dead before he hit the ground.

Ferra ran up onto Torr's shoulders, jumped off and let Torr grab her ankles. He swung her over his head before throwing her at another Tarkatan in an underhanded toss. With her arm blades extended out in front of her, she gave a cackle, before she buried them deep in the chest of the Tarkatan. He fell to the ground with her pummeling him with her gantlets over and over.

Another Tarkatan ran to intervene but was grabbed by Torr, who held him steady, before she sprinted over and sank her blades into him as well. Torr dropped the dead Tarkatan before grabbing Ferra and placing her back in her saddle.

Kotal Kahn raised his arm, blocking the Tarkatan's arm blade with his metallic arm-guard before delivering a punch to his fanged tooth mouth. His head snapped back while Kotal spun on his heels, placing himself behind him, grabbed both sides of his head and gave a hard twist.

Another charged him, swinging and missing his head, as he ducked low and delivered a crushing uppercut to his stomach. He hunched forward, crying out in pain, before Kotal Kahn grabbed him from behind his head and brought his face to his knee; breaking his jaw and sending shattered teeth scattering to the ground like ivory coins.

The Emperor leaned to the side, escaping the arm blade the swiped parallel to his body but missed. He drove his elbow into the side of the Tarkatan's ribcage, sending him to both knees, clutching a hand to his side. Kotal Kahn reached his hand for the handle of his macuahuitl, freed it from both of the dead Tarkatan's bodies, swung it high and buried it in the Tarkatans head. He sawed it up, pulling it before pushing him away with a kick to the back; the halves of his mangled head bleeding heavily onto the stone.

Kotal spun around, hearing heavy footsteps behind him and decapitated the Tarkatan that tried to skewer him from behind. His head rolled away, bouncing across the ground like a child's ball.

He heard screaming to his left and glanced over his shoulder to see Torr suspending a Tarkatan in the air with a grip on both of his sides. Ferra jumped on Torr's shoulders with a sadistic glee before she stabbed his face repeatedly with each of her blades. Torr threw his body at another Tarkatan, who groaned in pain when it collided with him.

Kotal Kahn sensed movement behind him and swung his sword club, bringing it horizontally to his body as a rather large Tarkatan tried to slice him from behind. They pushed, issuing a tug-of-war with his macuahuitl pushing against the arm-blades that crossed vertically over the club. They bared their teeth at each other before the larger Tarkatan managed to push him off.

The Emperor noted his attire before the arm blades slashed at him once more, blocking them with the jagged obsidian shards along the length of the club. He threw a punch, connecting with the Tarkatan Commander's jaw; the decorative ropes, tied along the biceps of muscled arms, indicated that he was of higher rank than his subordinates.

Kotal Kahn swiped the club for his knees while the Tarkatan jumped high to avoid. He swiped a blade for his face, which Kotal blocked with his arm-guard. The Tarkatan arched his other blade up for Kotal's heart, which he managed to block with the macuahuitl by sweeping it in front of him like a broom; the obsidians barbs screeching harshly against the stone.

Kotal pushed off the blade he had against his forearm but felt the Tarkatan deliver a sharp hook to his face to force him away. Kotal missed the blades as he spun on his feet, wobbling to gain his footing before the two regarded each other vehemently.

"You shall finally pay!" the Tarkatan Commander growled, "For your false claim to the throne as well as your demand for our heads to decorate your Courtyard!"

Kotal Kahn scoffed gruffly at his ill-tempered allegation: "A price to pay for allying yourself with your fallen Empress, who also ascended the throne to Outworld on false terms."

"Her claim was far more legitimate than yours!" he cried, swinging his blades for his head that he leaned out of the way off. He swiped his other blade downward and Kotal turned his body to the side to avoid it. He lifted his club up, but the Commander missed it by jumping back out of the way. Kotal, batted the macuahuitl sideways at him, trying to slice him across the stomach horizontally, but only managed to cut his clothing.

The Tarkatan Commander's lips curled irritably at the sliced shirt.

"You speak foully of my ascension," Kotal Kahn spat, "yet here you are aiding two that are more than undeserving of the throne as Shao Kahn's construct. Your thirst for retribution for your failed rebellion has blinded you in seeing you have chosen traitorous allies that will be your undoing. You do speak truthfully when you say, I _will_ see your heads decorate my Courtyard and it will be sooner than you have perceived."

The Commander snarled, charging him. He jumped and side-kicked into Kotal's stomach, causing the Emperor to grimace as he stepped backwards.

Kotal Kahn dodged the tip of his blade, barely missing his nose by inches, and swung his macuahuitl at him that he, unfortunately, rolled out of the way of.

The Emperor heard another behind him and twisted his body, bringing the club around with him, and sliced off the arm of the Tarkatan that tried to stab him with his back turned.

He yowled in pain and grasped his bleeding stump before Kotal bunted the end of the sharp club into his throat; slicing his throat and pushing him to the ground in unison. Kotal Kahn turned back to see the Commander's blade descend upon his head which he blocked by lifting his club across over his face.

The Kahn saw the sword come under, attempting to stick him in the side that he blocked with the outside of his forearm's metal guard. He felt the tip scratch lightly against the skin of his side and used his foot to trip him, causing him to fall on his back with a grunt.

Kotal Kahn stomped on his wrist and kneeled on the other arm, pinning him to the ground. He brought his macuahuitl's long side against the flesh of his neck and began to saw into his windpipe with the obsidian spikes. The Tarkatan Commander screamed briefly before his voice drowned out by his own blood that bubbled out of his mouth; some of it spraying on his face as he continued to dissever his head from his body.

As soon as his head rolled to the side, Kotal Kahn stood and faced whatever foe decided to challenge him next. He saw another Tarkatan run for him, although he did not make it far when Torr threw Ferra in his direction. She grappled onto his back by hooking her legs around his waist, reached her blades around the front of him and stabbed him in the chest. She twisted the blades with a delightful cackle and pulled them out before he fell over face down.

She stood on his lifeless body as Torr came to collect her with fast, heavy strides. She jumped up, catching his massive arm as he bent his arm to put her on his back. He grabbed another Tarkatan, holding him dangling by an arm before Torr threw him up as high over his head as he could.

The Tarkatan screamed as loudly as he did being thrown up as when gravity pushed his body back to the unforgiving stone ground below. His back broke on impact, causing him to cough up blood, as he wheezed laboriously on the ground. He did let out one final scream, however, one out of fear when he saw Torr jump and land both of his massive feet on top of his damaged body.

Ferra laughed, "Good boy, Torr! You squish him good!"

There were only a few Tarkatans left, looking doubtful whether they could successfully finish the task with their brethren lying dead before them.

That was until, they were joined by more Tarkatans accompanying them. Kotal grumbled a bit under his breath while Ferra and Torr welcomed the new set of arrivals with a childish chortle and a roar.

They had not received this much attention before. Kotal Kahn knew to assume that Matlal was most likely dead.

With that speculation in mind, he knew to anticipate Rain and Tanya anytime now.

* * *

_**To Be Continued...** _


	14. Chapter 14

** Chapter 14   
** **Bulls on Parade  
Part 3  
 _You Rascal You_**

* * *

Ermac and Reptile's ally, the Osh-Tekk, fell to his knees to the ground of the courtyard with a Tarkatan blade impaled in his heart as the same beast snarled down at him. The Tarkatan didn't get much time to revel in his victory however, when Ermac grabbed him in a telekinetic bind, twisted his head all the way around and threw him over the wall.

Gunshots rang in the distance, cutting through the clamor of battles around the palace and causing both guards to look towards were the sound was originating from. Remembering what Ermac had stated previously and knowing the gunfire could only come from one person, Reptile raised a scaly eyebrow in Ermac's direction.

"I thought you said Black was indisposed?"

The wraith didn't reply; the answer was clear enough that the ex-Earthrealmer was no longer succumbed to his illness; confirmed with each shot that echoed in the air.

With him being the only clue to where the Emperor might be, Reptile and Ermac gave each other a small glance before taking off in the direction of the gunfire.

* * *

Rain cursed slightly as a chunk of rock blew off from the stone wall he was hiding behind and managed to graze the flesh under his eye. He touched it lightly and frowned at the small trace of blood he saw on his fingers.

Another gunshot rang, blowing small dust particles from the rock and floated down on Tanya's dark hair. She looked over her shoulder at him and appeared as displeased as he was in their predicament.

They had been racing along an open walkway, merlons placed on both edges of the path when one of the Tarkatans leading ahead was killed by a bullet fired from Erron Black's gun. The Earthrealmer had them at a disadvantage as he stood on a balcony shooting at them from afar. They had made it to the middle of the walkway, and they were stuck where they were for now; if they moved from their hiding spots, they would be killed.

Rain heard another gunshot accompanied by a thud behind him and looked over his shoulder to see one of the Tarkatans with a hole on the side of his head; blood and bits of blown off flesh staining the stone under his distorted face.

He overheard Tanya say something in anger before she threw a fireball through the dip; Rain had to guess it was out of frustration rather than retaliation due to how far away Black was. The Hydromancer rolled his eyes at her childish act before another bullet punctured the stone she was behind and earned a peeved grumble from her.

Rain let out a small groan when he felt something cut across his arm and splattered in the stone by his feet. He tucked his arm, hiding it from view and sighed with annoyance at the slender red trail cut across his bicep from where Black's bullet nicked him.

The Hydromancer craned his head out and glared with detest at the figure with the rifle. He saw the gun aim in his direction and he barely ducked in time as a shot rang and the stone fragments of the edge of the merlon blinded him with dust momentarily. He rubbed his eyes, removing the remnants before he felt himself scowl at the abhorrent individual they were at the mercy of.

He knew that impertinent Earthrealmer well; their last meeting in Sun Do played bitterly in his mind and just recalling the thought made Rain grit his teeth. The last time they had an encounter, Kotal Kahn had beaten him and had ordered Black to finish him as if the task itself wasn't worth the Emperor's effort. He had kicked him in the jaw, held him down by his throat and nearly killed him before Mileena had spared him.

He snarled at the memory and felt the same discontent he had felt that day. Black had them trapped to his leisure like a couple of mice in a den, waiting for them comfortably from a bird's nest for them to reveal themselves.

There was only one option that Rain could think of that would end their crisis. He would have to teleport to the balcony and deal with Erron Black himself.

Rain smirked at the prospect of returning some long-expired due for his humiliation that day. In a way, he was pleased that they had been cornered so he had a justifiable excuse to exterminate the pest. He noticed Tanya looking at him with a questionable glance; almost as if she had the same idea and was reprimanding him for not leaving to deal with it already.

"I will rejoin you shortly," he declared as he flashed her a look full of grandiose certainty. "This will not take long."

With that last remark, he lifted his hand and teleported to the gunslinger's balcony.

He relished in the startled look the Earthrealmer gave him when he saw him suddenly standing next to him. Black tried to turn and aim his rifle towards him, but Rain knocked it away with the back of his gold-plated forearm. The barrel of the gun pointed harmlessly down at the ground and Black shifted it around, swung up the butt of the rifle and Rain cursed inwardly when he felt it connect under his jaw.

Black twirled the rifle around, attempting to shoot him again, but Rain lunged forward, grabbed the barrel and pulled it over his shoulder as the gun fired. He felt his palm burn against the steel of the barrel as the mercenary lifted his leg and kicked for his stomach. Rain managed to block him with his shin guard before delivering a jab. Black stumbled back, off balance, and released his hold on the rifle. Rain, holding the gun by the barrel, tossed it over the ledge of the balcony.

He went for his revolver, but the Edenian had anticipated his next move and was faster. Before he could lift it out, Rain gave him a spinning roundhouse kick to the face.

The mercenary grunted, his head snapping back as his spine connected with the railing of the balcony. Rain blasted a charge of lightning from his palm and grinned when he watched his chest arch up painfully as he fell to the ground.

Even though he was in agony, Black raised his gun out of his holster and aimed it in Rain's direction, fighting through the volts that shook his body and squeezed the trigger.

Rain simply moved out of the way as the bullet hit the railing behind him. Rain increased the intensity of the lightning and the Emperor's guard faltered; finally bellowing in pain as his eyes shut tightly. The sound of hearing him scream was music to his ears...

Something hard collided with the back of Rain's head and he was forced to halt his as he dropped to the ground. Rain shook his head, his eyesight adjusting through the haze to find himself on his hands and knees with splintered pieces of wood around him. He turned his head to the side to see another elderly Earthrealmer holding a piece of a wooden chair's leg in his hands standing above him.

He struck him hard across the face with the piece, sending him to the floor of the balcony. Rain groaned as he rubbed his jaw through his purple mask; feeling his jaw bruise and glowered. If the old fool thought it would take a chair to the back of the head to subdue him, he was in for an undesirable revelation.

Rain heard him calling out to another in the room that he could not see over his form. Rain stood up and raised his hand, blasting his back with a jet of water. He lurched forward and flew deeper into the room, landing on top of the other individual he was addressing.

The old man rolled off who he had knocked down and Rain raised an eyebrow at who it was he had landed on.

The Earthrealm servant girl he had run into from the day previous.

She narrowed her eyes skeptically at him, almost as if she were fighting with the uncertainty that this was the first time they had met. After a moment, her eyes widened in recognition and he prided himself in the fearful look she gave him. He noted her wounded condition, the stab wound on her shoulder fresh, and particularly enjoyed the small frightened _'you...?'_ that escaped her mouth almost inaudibly.

The Hydromancer smiled darkly with amusement and was about to enter the room when he was interrupted by Erron Black colliding into him. He gripped him around the midsection and threw him to the ground and on his back with Black above him.

Before he could aim his gun at him, Rain punched him across the face, knocking him off. The Prince rolled over, grabbed him by the collar of his black shirt and lifted him as he got back on his feet. He aimed his revolver at him, but Rain caught his wrist and quickly leaned his head out of the way as Black fired; he felt a gust of wind from the bullet as it passed by his ear.

Erron Black head-butted him, causing him to snap his head back before Rain pushed him into the doorframe. He punched him in the stomach, causing the marksman to hunch over with a pained groan before Rain gave him a solid punch across his cheek. Black hit the ground, landing on his hands and knees but forced flat to the floor when Rain pressed his foot squarely between his shoulder blades. Black struggled to get back up, coughing hoarsely.

"Why does this seem so strangely similar?" Rain sarcastically questioned, placing a hand on his chin before his eyes narrowed. "Oh, yes. Now I recall."

The Prince released his foot from his back and stepped forward to give him a brutal kick to the jaw, earning pained yell from Erron Black as he landed on his back. He coughed, a small bit of blood running out of his nose as he struggled to stay awake.

Rain clicked his tongue with disappointment. A strange inkling crossed his thoughts that made Rain wonder if Black was ill; he certainly looked poorly. He sighed with boredom; he had expected more of a fight out of Kotal Kahn's guard and was somewhat annoyed their tussle was over so quickly. Nonetheless, he had two others he could kill time with until he was ready to get back up.

"I will deal with you in a moment after I have taken care of your pets," he sneered. He placed his foot on Black's stomach as if he were a floor rug, and purposely put all of his weight on his foot as he stepped over him and entered the room.

The old man shielded himself in front of the girl and he rolled his eyes at the pathetic sentimentality of it. He stepped forward as they walked back, both understandably guarded and apprehensive about his sinister presence in the room; he felt his ego swell at their fear.

The old man turned and whispered sternly to her: "Norah— go."

The Hydromancer raised a hand. "No. _Stay_."

They flew back, both of them soaking wet as they hit the large cabinet that had been used to blockade the door. She rolled off the piece of furniture and yelped when she hit the ground, grasping her injured shoulder as her wet hair hung around her face like a curtain. The old man lay sprawled on the top of the cabinet, groaning painfully and braced his hands against the wood.

He cried out in pain when Rain unleashed lightning on him, the elderly Earthrealmer quivering as he flopped on top of the furniture. It didn't last as long as he would have liked, when the girl foolishly ran at him with the same knife he saw on her from their previous encounter.

His lightning stopped as he grabbed her wrist almost effortlessly, crushing it in his hands as small flickers of electricity danced and pricked along her skin. The girl moaned in pain as she tried to pull away from him and he gave her a light shock with his hand, earning another quick yelp from her.

He tilted his head and noticed that the same hand holding the blade was the same side as her afflicted shoulder. Rain frowned when he saw her other hand lift to strike him, and he punched her wounded shoulder as a reward for her idiotic boldness. The knife dropped instantly, and she hunched forward with a cry of misery, her eyes filled instantly with tears as her other hand flew over her wound.

Rain snatched her by the throat and squeezed, earning a startled and gagged sound from her as her hand left her shoulder to scratch over his fingers. He let go of her wrist, allowing her to secure her grip with both hands, as her eyes bugged wide in alarm.

He brought her face to look at his and she cowered under his stare. "I am pleased to see that you remember me despite the masquerade," he told her with a haughty tone.

While maintaining his strong grip on her throat, he spun her into him so her back was to his chest. She fought against his hold, trying to claw his hand off her throat as she wheezed for air. He released his hand slightly, not wanting to end their conversation so short, but continued to hold her against him.

"How entertaining it is to run into you again," he chided to her from behind. "Although I must admit, you do not look as lovely as you did since our last encounter. Such a shame you stained your dress, it _was_ a nice shade on you.

She tried to wiggle away as he lowered his head to whisper in her ear; she flinched and turned her head away. "Perhaps _red_ will suit you better."

He rubbed his thumb in a circle against the skin of her throat and gave a breathy mocking laugh when she shivered in disgust. Rain glanced at her blood-soaked shoulder and smirked at the stitching zigzagging across her skin under the open, keyhole torn section of the purple blouse.

"What a pity about your shoulder. Tell me, does it hurt?" he heckled before he brought his other hand up and jammed his thumb into her damaged flesh. Her reaction was instantaneous, and she wailed as she struggled desperately to get out of his grasp.

He felt blood coat his hand as he started to pluck at the strings by hooking his thumb underneath and tugging; causing her to scream even louder. The sound delighted him, and he continued to burrow his thumb in deeper. However, he had been so distracted that he did not notice the old man had recovered, heard her screams and raced over to stop him. He pulled her out of his arms and punched him across the jaw.

Taken aback, he was able to grab Rain by the collar, yell: "Get off her!" before he punched him in face and then kneed him hard in the crotch.

Rain groaned loudly, falling to his knees as his extremities exploded with pain. He boiled over with rage as he watched the old Earthrealmer pull her to her feet and try to help her to the door, fresh blood coating her wounded shoulder. Rain's lips quivered with rancor from behind his mask.

_The audacity to attack him in such a manner!_

He teleported quickly, placing himself behind the old man, and in a flash, wrapped his arm around his neck and snapped it before they could get the door open.

Much to his pleasure, she had seen him do it and he grinned at the horrified look she had on her face. His lifeless body slumped towards her and she attempted to catch him, but his limp weight brought her down to her knees.

She let out a sorrowful sob as she held on to him in her lap. A cry of tortured _'no'_ escaped loudly from her before she started to bawl with her head hung low. He must have been someone she cared dearly for. _Good._

" _Yes_ ," he shot cruelly at her.

He reached for the left side of her head, attempting to grab her by her wet hair, but as soon as she felt his hand, she turned to him, shrieked with anger and slapped him sharply across the face. His head snapped to the side and his eyes flared with distemper as he met her furious, tear stained expression; her teeth bared like an animal at him as she trembled with outrage.

Rain seized her by the neck and pulled her towards him, dragging her over the body of her fellow dead Earthrealmer. She let out a choked cry as her hand wrapped around his wrist while he pulled her to her feet.

He heard something move behind him and his eyes shifted over to where he had discarded Erron Black. Quickly, he whirled her towards the direction of the balcony and draped his arm across her chest with his hand cupping her shoulder while the other held her strongly by her forehead.

Erron Black held his revolver, aimed it in his direction and pulled the hammer back. Rain forced her head to an unnatural angle, twisting it to the side as he turned her shoulder to point in the opposite way.

"I wager bounty hunter, that I can break her neck faster than you can pull the trigger in your ail condition," Rain taunted with a smile. "Would you care to test it to see if I am correct?" He gave a small tug on her head to demonstrate his point and she whimpered.

"Drop her," Black ordered, his eyes narrowed.

Rain 'tsked' as he addressed her with his eyes still on Black, "How saccharine and pathetic."

Forgetting about the elderly Earthrealmer, a thought crossed into his head at the possibility of why she was in his room for them to even have this little impasse. He gave a small, disgusted snort as he looked back and forth between them before he turned his head and whispered in a berated tone playfully into her ear: "Are you his little bed warmer?"

"Burn in Hell, you filthy Edenian cur," she seethed malignantly at him. His lip curled up in a snarl and he gave her head another tiny, but uncaring jerk as a warning, causing her to let out a minuscule cry of pain.

"If anything's _pathetic_ , it's you using her as armor," he scolded gratingly back. "Does Tanya do most of the fightin' while you are pissin' yourself in the corner?"

Rain felt a flash of anger ignite inside him at the comment, making his blood boil as he lowered his head dangerously in Erron Black's direction. He would make sure this putrid and lowly Earthrealmer knew well what came to those that offended him in such a disgraceful and derogatory manner.

His eyes looked over the girl once more before he released her from him. Instead, he moved his hand to ravel harshly in her hair with a firm grip, holding her steady out in front of him. He pulled back on her scalp, earning a small whimper of pain from her as one of her hands flew back to grab the back of his hand, trying to claw it out of her hair.

"What was it you said to me in Sun Do that day?" He thought for a moment, trying to recollect the exact words before his eyes narrowed at the memory and he chuckled maliciously. "Oh yes, I remember and unlike you, I can promise with certainty, that ' _you_ will not be touching _her_ again.'"

He wiped his hand with a backhanded motion and propelled her towards the trunk by the end of the bed. She hit it face first and let out a sharp cry before she crumpled to the floor; her eyes closed and a small cut on her forehead. Though she was not entirely unconscious, she was indisposed, and he would enjoy resuming their little fight once again after he killed Black. Rain looked at his palm and dusted away the small chunk of wet hair stuck to his palm.

Kotal Kahn's guard pulled the trigger, shooting off a couple of bullets but missed as Rain jumped out of the way for each one; although he did feel them graze his skin. Rain lifted his hand and shot a powerful stream of water at him that Erron Black spun out of the way of; most of it flying over the balcony.

Black fired again but missed as Rain stepped in close and batted the arm that held the gun off to the side; the bullet ricocheted harmlessly around the room. Rain jabbed him in the jaw and the marksman hit him with an uppercut to his obliques.

Erron Black tried to snap kick for him, but Rain blocked it with his plated-shin. Rain delivered a punch to his chest, sending him away from him as his back hit the wall. Black jumped forward and before he could stop him, felt the mercenary grab him behind the shoulders, move to the side and forced his face into the wall. Rain groaned in pain, tasting blood in his mouth in his hunched over position before he felt Black shift around and bring his knee and fists to connect with his abdomen multiple times.

Rain brought his elbow back and felt it hit the side of his face, allowing him his freedom. The Edenian pivoted on his feet, brought his fist up and hooked the opposite side of Black's jaw. The mercenary stumbled back, nearly tripping over the girl who was starting to recover slowly as Rain came towards him.

Erron Black raised his revolver again, but Rain suspended him in a water bubble before blasting lightning at the bubble and pushing him further into the room. Black hit the back of the cabinet, slumped for a moment before he jumped to his feet as Rain ran to him.

Rain swiped at him with a hook that Black blocked with the outside of his arm. The gunman brought up a fist and landed a punch to the center of Rain's nose. His head went back, his nose damaged, but push-kicked Black. He hit the back of the cabinet, cornering the marksman while Rain assaulted him with blows to his face and chest. Black caught one arm and pistol-whipped him across his facemask, once to make distance, and a second to maim as the Hydromancer stumbled back.

He saw the Kahn's guard lower the gun towards his head and Rain quickly teleported behind him. He grabbed Black from behind, his attention focused on the weapon in his hand and tried to remove it out of his grip with both hands.

The Earthrealmer clamped his hand on Rain's wrist and quickly reached into his other holster to grab the other gun. He pointed it at him, aiming it over his shoulder at Rain's head. Rain shifted his head quickly out of the way as Black fired it, missing him by inches. Black craned his head forward before he whipped it back, hitting him in the nose the same time Rain kicked him in the back of the knee.

Erron Black's leg shot forward as he bent down to one knee and Rain wobbled back: blood now coming out of each nostril. The gunslinger turned, raising both guns as he spun on his knee he was forced on and pulled the hammers back. Rain came forward, grabbed both wrists and pulled his arms apart as the guns discharged off into the corners of the room.

Rain brought his leg up and booted it into his face. Erron Black groaned, landing on his back with a thud. Black gritted his teeth at him as he raised one his of guns that Rain pinned to the ground quickly by stomping on his wrist. He attempted the same thing with the other one and Rain grabbed his wrist, gave an uncomfortable twist and enjoyed that Black let out a pained yell as it fell from his hand. The Hydromancer, one hand still holding on his wrist, hovered his hand above Black's face and placed only his head in a water bubble.

Rain hummed a jaunty tune, one from his childhood, as he watched Kotal Kahn's bodyguard shutter inside the water bubble; trying to escape the trap with little effort. He bucked underneath Rain, his legs starting to kick wildly as he fought to get out of it. He saw him scream mutely inside it and Rain knew it wouldn't be long until he drowned...

Fire exploded across his shoulder blade, earning a pained cry from him. The second time he felt it, he released the bubble and staggered away from Erron Black, the latter sputtering water out of his mouth. Before it could happen a third time, he flung his elbow back and hit his assailant.

Rain heard a feminine whine and a body hit the ground behind him, but he already knew who it was that had attacked him before his elbow hit her jaw. He felt his blood run down his back and soak into his purple cape when he turned around and loomed over her fallen body. He felt himself scowl furiously when he saw the small knife that lay by her hand; the silver of the steel coated in crimson. _His_ blood.

_How dare that little peasant slut stab him!_

Rain narrowed his eyes viciously at her as she cupped her bruised jaw, her face grimacing. She noticed he was fuming above her and glared in wrathful hatred at him.

She glanced over at the knife, and with a growl, he grabbed her ankle and pulled her towards him before she could grab it; sliding across the floor with enough friction to burn the exposed skin of her back. Her hands came up to him as she shrieked angrily at him, beating him against his chest as he moved to straddle her waist. She punched him in the nose, sending pain through his bruised face and he gave her a solid backhand, silencing her screams and whipping her head to the side as her lip cut open. He grabbed her by the throat with both hands and received her attention as she fought out of her daze.

The girl looked up at him with blazing livid eyes as she grabbed his wrists. At first, he couldn't understand what had given her the unwise boldness to attack him until his eyes glanced over at the dead old man he had killed lying by the door.

He saw her crane her hand out for the knife desperately, just slightly out of her way by centimeters and he laughed at her efforts. She managed to touch the handle before he leaned over and simply tapped it out of her reach. It clattered away, a couple of inches too far and her face fell while a frustrated moan escaped her; the hopelessness evident on her face as he looked down at her.

"Was he your father?" he questioned trenchantly. "Do not fret, you will be joining him soon even if your death will not be as brisk as his was."

A cross expression crimped on her face and she spat at him for his remark. He felt it disgustingly land in his eye and he grumbled in repulsion as he raised a hand to wipe it away. He placed his hand back on her throat and pressed down on her windpipe.

She let out a strangled cry, her hands at his fingers as he watched her face turn red and the vein in her forehead jut out. Her eyes closed as her face scrunched in agony as he strangled her mercilessly. He could have easily snapped her neck, but instead took elation in prolonging her suffering.

After a few moments, her face began to turn purple and he could feel her heels dig into the floor more fiercely. Her hands left his wrists and began to beat blindly against him in a final attempt to fight him off. Rain squeezed harder and her hands went back to his hands while airy gasps and grunts escaped out of the little room she had left in her throat.

Much to his gratification, he felt the nails on his fingers begin to slacken and watched with mirth as her face started to relax.

A strong arm wrapped around his throat and another under his arm, forcing him into a chokehold as he was lifted off her and pulled to his feet with a startled groan.

Rain brought his elbow up and hit the point of it into Black's rib-cage repeatedly; trying to break the hold. Erron Black didn't falter despite the blows and he began to grow nervous when his vision started to blur and he wheezed for air. The mercenary must of noticed because Rain heard him growl bitterly behind him: "How do _you_ like it?"

He gritted his teeth at the comment and pushed against Black, forcing him to the wall. He grunted and his arm slackened when his back struck the wall, but it wasn't enough. Through the fog, Rain eyeballed the balcony and got an idea. With Erron Black attached to him, he lifted his hand and teleported the both of them.

He felt them fall through the air, and in surprise, Black let go of him enough for Rain to teleport once more to safety; leaving the mercenary to fall to the ground of the courtyard below.

The Edenian smiled when he reappeared and turned towards the direction of Black's balcony, expecting to see his broken body under it, but instead felt the grin immediately stolen from his face when he saw him safely hovering above the ground in a green mist, courteous of Kotal Kahn's other guard Ermac. He placed him carefully on the ground as Ermac floated over in his direction, Erron Black also following behind him as the two guards approached him.

Rain lifted his hand, about to give them both a dose of lightning, when suddenly something moist and firm wrapped around his wrist and jerked him powerfully to the side. He flipped in the air, spinning uncontrollably before he landed hard on his arm. The Zaterran, Reptile, materialized out of the air nearby and pulled his tongue back in his mouth with a wet snap.

He climbed back to his feet as Reptile came after him, throwing a hook that Rain managed to stop with his forearm. Rain gave Reptile an uppercut and accompanied it with a hook to the face.

Rain lifted his hand towards the Zaterran until what he compared to a large gust of wind abruptly knocked him off his feet. Ermac stood off to the side, his hands glowing from the energy ball he just shot at him before he felt the wretch pick him up by his feet and dangled him over the ground. Rain anticipated what he was trying to do and tucked his chin to his chest as Ermac dropped him.

The top of his shoulders flared with pain, but at least his neck was in one piece. He ignored it and flipped his feet over his head. Standing back up, he was forced to stumble to the side with a groan when Reptile sailed through the air and hit him in the jaw as he passed. Rain twirled, his jaw exploding in pain when Reptile punched him once again and then kicked him with the flat of his foot.

Hunched over, he managed to give him a jet of water, sending Reptile away before he could shoot acid at him.

Just as Rain happened to look up, he watched as Ermac flew and collided his foot into the center of his gut. Rain sailed back, hitting the ground with a pained yell before he felt Ermac's telekinetic energy grab him and throw him over his head and into the wall under Black's balcony face first.

Rain slumped against the wall with a pitiful groan, barely able to stand as he turned around to meet fists pummeling his face shortly after. Black forced him into the wall with each blow. Rain managed to hit him in the jaw and teleport, fazed enough to only manage to transport to the middle of the courtyard before Reptile sprinted towards him.

The Zaterran swiped at him with his claws and Rain managed to dodge and block them before he felt him rake one across his chest. Rain punched him, forcing him away as he looked down to see three jagged marks running diagonally down his body. Distracted, he suddenly cried out in pain when he felt a bullet from Black's gun enter his side and tucked and rolled to avoid the other rounds that pierced the ground near him. He staggered back to his feet and covered the wound with his hand.

Reptile's tongue wrapped around his ankles from behind, causing him to fall face first and hit the point of his jaw against the stone. A twinge of pain blinded him for a moment as he lifted himself up— only to meet a foot connecting with his jaw and send him falling to his back.

The Zaterran hovered over him, about to stomp a clawed foot on his chest before Rain raised his hand and summoned lightning on him from above. The Zaterran snarled, retreating away as best as he could out of the shower of sparks, as Rain tried to get back on his feet.

The second he did, Ermac lifted him once more and threw him like a ragdoll into a wall. Ermac levitated over to him, caught the first Rain tried to throw and forced his own fist to jab him in the face. Rain kicked Ermac's torso, managing to bounce him slightly before the mystic's hand formed into a fist.

The Prince couldn't move as he was bound by the green mist and lifted high. The wraith drove forward with a yell, headbutting Rain brutally in the forehead before he floated above him, placed his feet on Rain's back and used his telekinetic energy to slam Rain into the ground below face first with Ermac's weight on top.

Ermac lifted off him, picked up Rain and once again slammed his back into the wall. He fell face forward, and this time Rain tasted blood swirl in his mouth while something bounced around; clanking against his teeth when he rose to his hands and knees. When he reached under his face mask and spat it out, he knew it was a tooth he felt roll around in his palm. He tossed it to the ground with a pained grumble, the small act alone feeling tremendously troubling to do.

Rain tried to stand but couldn't muster the energy to do anything other than lift himself feebly to his hands and knees. He raised his head with a groan and watched as they approached him. He stared at them with one eye narrowed— the other one closed shut now that he had a chance to rest and take notice.

Ermac's hands glowed brighter as he ceased levitating and dropped his feet to the ground.

Rain scowled as Erron Black clicked his revolver back into place and spun the cylinder wildly in a smug display.

Reptile flicked his tongue out, lashing it before it went back into his salivating mouth: "I will enjoy _this."_

_You are disgusting cretin. You will never receive the opportunity._

Even with his internal proclamation and as deplorable as it was to admit, he knew he would not win this fight, and this was not the fight he had traveled all this way for.

With the last bit of strength he had, he punched his hand into the stone of the ground. Lightning crackled over the ground, looking like veins against the surface as they snaked towards the three and sent them flying backwards. With them disorientated for the moment, he took his opportunity to teleport.

He landed on the parapet across Black's balcony and teleported once more.

* * *

On the other side of the courtyards, a Tarkatan widened his eyes in alarm as Kotal Kahn placed his foot on the outside of Torr's massive arm and let the brute catapult him in his direction.

The last thing the Tarkatan saw, was the Emperor bringing his macuahuitl down and breaking through both arm-blades placed out defensively in front of him. He was dead before he felt himself sliced all the way from the top of his head down to the pit of his intestines; if not for the blades, he would have been cut entirely in half.

Kotal Kahn tucked and rolled forward, holding onto his macuahuitl as the momentum from being thrown by Torr, freed it from the Tarkatan's mangled body. He came back to his feet and swiped his club for Tanya, who used her naginata to block his weapon.

She gritted her teeth spitefully at him as he pushed his macuahuitl to the side and unlatched her weapon from his before delivering a solid punch to her face.

The Edenian let out a discontented cry of anger before she brought her hand up and chucked a fireball. He raised his club and blocked it from hitting his face but felt the heat of it spread across the surface of his club on the other side. He heard her heels click against the stone, giving him a distinct warning she was running towards him and swiped his macuahuitl for her head.

She ducked, detracted her staff and acrobatically flipped in the air, the spiked heels of her boots hitting him in the face as the club went to the side.

He heard the staff clicking back to its full length and Kotal brought his arm guard up to avoid the naginata blade that came down over his forehead. She pulled it towards her, the metal of his gauntlet and her blade screeching unpleasantly, before she twirled it up and hit him under the chin with the end of the staff. His eyes faced up at the black sky, long enough for him to see the naginata's blade cut through it and fall towards his head as Tanya swung it overhead like an executioner's axe.

He placed his macuahuitl horizontally in front of him, blocking the blade before he pushed it to the side and spun in a circle with the club. He felt a satisfied smile pull at the corner of his mouth when he heard Tanya cry out in pain and saw the cut across the outside of her bicep; he would have preferred to have skinned more flesh from her, but the angered look on her face was decent enough to take a small flicker of elation in.

With a growl, her hand ignited in a fireball and launched in his direction that he shielded easily with his club; an almost bored expression graced his face. He saw her swing the blade for his legs and he jumped out of its path as his sword club curved around for her as well and, unfortunately, missed as she rolled to the side.

He barely caught her retracting the staff end of the bladed weapon before he felt her wrap her leg around the back of his head, forced his eyes to the pavement and gave him a high axe kick with the other leg.

He faltered back and lifted his club up as Tanya swung her weapon, twirling it and detracting the staff as the bladed end aimed for his head and clanged against the obsidian shards of his club. The weapons crossed and he stepped forward, sending her backwards and off-balance.

Kotal charged her, but she was prepared and stabbed her naginata into the ground. Gripping the staff, she lifted herself into the air with her feet pointed out in front of her. Her boots hit him under his jaw as she flipped herself up onto the top of the staff and perched on it with an arrogant smile to meet his narrowed eyes.

"I would have thought the _real_ Ko'atal would have put up a bigger fight," she jeered.

Annoyed, Kotal Kahn bunted the tip of his macuahuitl hard against her staff and sent the vain Pyromancer to the ground. Unfortunately, she landed on her feet and swung the naginata high. Kotal Kahn blocked it by placing his club horizontally over his face before lifting his foot and kicked her in the stomach. She recoiled with a groan of pain, clutching her hand protectively over her midsection as she fell onto her back.

"And for someone who risks the promise of their own execution if they failed, I would expect them to put forth a more earnest effort to not celebrate so prematurely. As if this were a game," Kotal Kahn returned with a glower. "Or are you simply stalling and awaiting for your cohort to come to aid you in assassinating me? That is, if he hasn't already preferred to abandon you."

"I do not need Rain's help to kill you," Tanya retorted back with a dark glint in her eyes; informing him she was offended by his remark.

She detracted her staff, brought her legs back and kipped-up, landing on her heels. Her eyebrows flicked up briefly at him in a cocky manner, "Especially considering how easily your lackluster copy was to defeat. You should have seen the look on his face when I smeared his guts into the ground. I do have to admit, Ko'atal, he really is a _dead-ringer_ — apologies, I should say, _was_ a dead-ringer— since how unrecognizable his face is now after my boot print."

Kotal Kahn's eyes narrowed hard as a small growl rumbled in his chest at her words. She smiled, pleased that she had managed to burrow under his skin.

Tanya shrugged as she extended her staff and placed the end to the ground with a small pretentious spin, "A shame you _both_ will not live to see another sunrise."

She charged him and whirled her naginata in large, fasts circles, the staff and the blade hitting all the sides of the macuahuitl as he backed away from her assaults.

Tanya speared the air for him that he managed to pivot away from while the blade slid across the flat red surface of the club. With the blade out in front of him, he lowered his club and quickly grabbed the staff just below where the blade and stick connected. With an iron hold on her naginata, he pulled her in his direction and lurched her forward with a startled look. He swung it around, causing her to loosen her grip and send her flying to the ground with a pained thud.

He detracted the staff as she glared at him from the ground.

"You will arrive at a dissimilar opinion on your knees. That is _if_ I allow you to continue to draw breath long enough for you to watch the sun break," Kotal Kahn derided darkly as he tossed her naginata to the side.

Her teeth bared at him as she jumped to her feet and flung a fireball at him. He protected his face with the club as she persisted, sending fire in a large blazing stream as he continued to shield himself. After a few moments, she gave up, unable to hold the rush of fire but Kotal could hear the wood of the macuahuitl crackle as it caught fire.

With a hard toss, he threw the inflamed club in her direction and frowned when Tanya dodged it by splitting her legs apart, ducking down and letting it hit the unfortunate Tarkatan that stood behind her. The club shattered into fiery splinters as it collided with the Tarkatan and sent him to the ground in an unconscious heap while Tanya returned to her feet and dashed to him.

Kotal withdrew the tecpatl dagger from his belt and slashed for her midsection. Tanya tucked her stomach and stopped his hand with the palm of her smaller ones. He felt her grab onto his wrist and before she could pull his knife away, he gave her a hook across the jaw before delivering a backhand with the same hand.

She stumbled away with a cry of pain the same time he heard someone's feet running towards him from behind. With a sharp turn, he threw his dagger at the Tarkatan trying to skewer him from behind.

The dagger buried itself in the Tarkatan's neck, earning a gurgled scream muted by the blade in his throat, before Kotal ran to him, grabbed the hilt of the blade and twisted it along with his neck before pulling it free from his broken neck.

Due to the momentary distraction, he found himself pelted with a fireball in his back, earning a groan from him. He turned to see another launched at him that he avoided by quickly leaning out of the side of. He felt the ball sail over his shoulder and smolder the tips of the feathers from his headdress.

Tanya jumped in the air for him, aiming a heel for his face, but Kotal managed to grab her outstretched leg and swing her towards the ground. The Pyromancer grunted with pain when her back hit the ground. Before he could stomp down on her chest, she brought back her other foot and planted it flat into his face.

He released her leg and wobbled back as she flipped her legs over her head and got back on her feet.

"You leave Big Bossy alone!" Ferra called with rage from Torr's back, who also roared in agreement as the duo charged towards her; seeing that there were no more Tarkatans in their path to deal with first.

Before they were upon her, a purple bubble teleported onto Torr's back, held on to Torr and clamped a hand on the back of Ferra's neck and zapped them. Ferra/ Torr pulsated violently, Rain's attack on them unrelenting as he held on to both and electrocuted them. Torr's knees hit the ground with a thud, his breathing haggard as Ferra slumped against his back with a strained groan.

Rain teleported off Torr and reappeared in front of Kotal with both fists entwined tight in a ball and brought them towards Kotal's nose. He grabbed Rain's encompassed fists with one hand, forced Rain's own fist to collide with his face, before planting a hard kick to his stomach.

Rain stumbled back with a groan and hunched over for a moment before he went to attack him once more. Kotal caught his hook with the back of his gantlet and brought the heel of his hand towards his jaw with the other fist, sending the Hydromancer away.

The Emperor sensed Rain was already weak from a previous fight; his attire bloody and the hook that Kotal blocked felt sluggish. Kotal punched him across the jaw, sending his face to the side before giving Rain a side-kick to the stomach.

Rain fell to his back, just as Tanya grabbed Kotal from behind by his headdress and pulled hard. Kotal's elbow went behind him and hit her face, releasing her hold. The Osh-tekk whirled, punched her in the face and then flipped his knife in his hand to stab her stomach with an underhand strike. She noticed and brought her foot up, knocking his hand down before spinning on her heels and giving him a roundhouse kick with the opposite foot.

He spun, noticed Rain struggling to stand and punched him with the momentum from Tanya's kick. The Hydromancer let out a yelp that bordered between frustration and pain as he fell back to the ground as Kotal spun back around on his heels to face Tanya.

A high axe kick descended upon him that he blocked by grabbing her by the back of the ankle. Kotal turned his body and swung her over his head like a sack on top of the Hydromancer. Rain let out another miserable yelp as Tanya sailed into his back and sent him once again to the ground.

"Get up and fight you useless sack of water!" Tanya seethed viperously at him, helping him to his feet with a careless lift under his arm.

"Be silent, Tanya! " he returned while he blinked, trying to fight through his pain as he stood with the Pyromancer.

Kotal Kahn scoffed at the both of them; the pair resembling something closer to bratty, squabbling children instead of warriors.

"Pathetic. Even with both of your efforts combined, still you are incapable in accomplishing what you came here to do. The evidence of why both of you are unfit to rule anything larger than a speck of dirt is in abundance this night."

The Edenians narrowed their eyes in furious unison at him, both of their prides equally damaged by his comment. Rain shot lightning at Kotal but missed as he stepped out of the way. Rain charged him and swung a fist at his face. Kotal grabbed him by his outstretched arm and kicked his foot hard into the side of his knee.

Kotal raised his tecpatl dagger as Rain shrunk to one knee with a pained yell, however Tanya jumped onto his arm, wrapped her legs around the back of his neck from behind and pulled him towards the ground with her weight. Kotal's head grazed the stone and he felt the knife fall from his grasp but held onto the Pyromancer as he rolled them until he was sitting atop her.

He pelted her with fists, her head whipping to the side with each strike. With her dazed beneath him, he grabbed the tecpatl dagger that fell to the side, raised it and aimed for her heart.

Kotal flew off Tanya and landed to the side— wet— with a grunt escaping him and the knife clattering away; Rain's hand lowered as he grasped his knee. Tanya ran for Kotal with an angry scream, throwing a series of fireballs in his direction that he rolled out of the way, each of them hitting the stone inches from him, before he lifted himself back to his feet in time to catch her as she leapt into the air for him with his dagger in her hand.

Kotal caught the knife hand and taking advantage that she had her legs wrapped around his waist, jumped in the air and slammed her back into the ground with all of his weight, cracking the stone beneath her as she bellowed in agony. He grabbed the tecpatl from her hand, rose with it in his hand and planted a foot on her chest, earning a hollow and pained groan from her before he felt Rain's lightning at his back.

Kotal, vibrating and in pain, turned towards the Hydromancer and advanced; each step ripping slowly up as if his sandals were glued to the stone. Rain hobbled back to his feet, even with the mask covering his face, Kotal could see him straining to hold the lightning. After a moment, the prince ceased and breathed heavily. Kotal faltered, his body racked with pain, but ignored it and dashed forward.

He raised a fist that was caught by Rain's golden-guarded forearm, stopping him from sinking the knife in the side of his neck. Kotal dropped the knife, caught it in his other hand and sliced Rain's exposed side, causing the Hydromancer to cry out before Kotal Kahn flipped it in his hand.

Before Kotal could bury it into his gut, Rain's hand shot out a defensive blast of water, sending the Emperor to his back.

The Osh-Tekk felt a heel land on his wrist, pinning his knife-wielding hand to the ground and he punched high, hitting the Pyromancer in the kneecap of the leg that held his arm down. She grabbed her knee and backed away from him, her face twisting in pain as he stood back on his feet and swung the dagger for her face. While she was able to push the majority of the dagger away, the tip still sliced the flesh of her cheek with a slender cut before he side-kicked her.

Tanya paused, touched her cheek with her hand and frowned heavily at the blood smeared on her palm. With a growl, she threw her fist while she ignited a fireball in the same hand.

Embers entered into his eyes as he blocked her arm, blinding him temporarily for her to launch her foot high and strike him with an axe kick that he grabbed with his hand; her ankle landing in his palm. He punched her squarely in the face several times, snapping her head back with each assault before he hugged her leg and tossed her to the ground on her back. Still holding on to her leg in the crook of his arm, he gave her kneecap a sharp jerk to the side; the snap almost unheard over the sound of her pained screaming.

She shot a fireball and landed it in his face. He stumbled back, his eyes stinging and felt someone whirl him around and shove a knee into his midsection. His eyes cleared for him to see Rain's fist uppercut his jaw.

Kotal's head flew up and he decked Rain with a massive headbutt to his nose. The Hydromancer floundered back, a wet sniffling coming from him and the purple mask staining dark with blood. He heard Tanya limping behind him, lifted his foot without glancing behind him and mule-kicked her in the stomach.

She howled in pain, the olive skin of her abdomen beginning to show signs of her injuries as blue bruises painted themselves on her. He twisted around, bringing the knife towards her in a backhand that she caught by bracing both of her arms out in front. She grabbed his arm and snapped her foot up, kicking Kotal in the jaw while she used his arm to help balance on her injured leg.

Kotal pulled her to him and wrapped her neck in a vice with his arm and crushed it. She caught his hand as the knife hovered inches from her heart as she coughed for air.

Tanya brought her foot up straight over her shoulder and hit him in the face. He grumbled, the strike blunt enough to release her from his hold. Still holding onto his arm with both hands, she twirled around and kicked him once again in the jaw before placing her foot against his chest, rolled backwards and pulled her over her head and kicked him off with her good leg. He landed with a thud onto his back and felt Rain's hand fall down on his face.

With a growl, Kotal grabbed the lapels of Rain's caped attire, brought his head down to headbutt him with his metal headdress. The Emperor jumped to his feet, just as Tanya did and punched her across the jaw, sending her spinning in the air and to her stomach with a grunt.

He turned to see Rain raise a hand, his gaze fuzzy as his mask dripped with blood, but never got the opportunity to shoot him with water when he was grabbed by a massive hand, lifted up and slammed to the ground before a large foot kicked him like a ball over Kotal's head towards the wall.

Rain hit the stone with a loud yell, spiderwebs of cracks ruining the wall were his back collided against it as Torr roared. Ferra sat on Torr's shoulder, looking as equally angry as her symbiotic counterpart; both of them huffing out of their noses and through their clenched teeth with each heated exhale.

Kotal caught Tanya's fist in his hand, crushed it to hold her still and gave her a side-kick of his own into her stomach. She hunched over, hopping on her leg, and he gave her an uppercut with his free fist, flying her to the ground. She spat blood out of her mouth the moment she was able to lift her head up, her eye beginning to swell shut.

He watched as she looked over in Rain's direction, the Hydromancer looking more grisly disheveled and blood-soaked than she was, as he breathed heavily against the stone wall, unable to stand and stayed sitting against it as Ferra/Torr stomped in his direction. Rain's head bobbed as his gaze fixed on one of the doorways of the courtyard and watched as Erron Black, Ermac and Reptile ran through.

With no more Tarkatans alive in the courtyard, the Edenians were now severely outnumbered, and to add even more to their forlorn situation, the sun began to rise over the horizon, causing the Emperor's tattoos to glow with a gold blaze as the rays peeked through over the walls of the palace.

They looked at each other, both confirming silently to each other with equal looks of despondency that their colossal egos couldn't alleviate as the bitter truth sank in.

_They had lost._

Rain teleported out of sight, barely escaping Torr's fist as it punctured the wall where he once sat.

The Hydromancer never reappeared to collect Tanya.

The female Edenian slammed a fist against the ground and let out a loud chagrin scream, even if her countenance didn't seem surprised by Rain's departure; it was expected knowing the true colors of his character.

"Fine... I can do it myself..."

Her head turned to her fallen naginata that lay far off to the side; a mere hopeless and desperate attempt if anything, but one she would try nonetheless. She stood, balancing on her uninjured leg and hit Kotal Kahn across the face; a punch that he didn't bother to block. The Emperor gave chase by simply walking behind her, knowing full well there was no need for the effort.

Tanya hopped for her naginata, but found herself flown to the side by a blast of green energy from Ermac. She clutched her knee but climbed back on her feet, just before she felt Ferra jump on her back.

The Pyromancer let out a pained yelp as Ferra cackled and pulled on her ebony hair before Tanya shoved a small fistful of fire into the smaller girl's face. Ferra released her and rubbed her eyes with her palms, trying to clear the embers as Tanya continued towards her weapon.

Tanya almost reached it before she felt a tongue lash out and wrapped around the ankle of her damaged leg and pulled. She let out a loud scream of frustration and pain as she fell face first.

With her weapon feet out in front of her face, she crawled towards it, her hand almost reaching it before a leather boot stomped down on the staff and shoved it behind with a flick of his foot. Tanya looked up to see Erron Black cock his revolver at her head.

"How's that workin' out for you?" he questioned with a sarcastic drawl.

Ermac walked over to Tanya, grabbed her by the back of the neck and forced her to kneel as Kotal Kahn approached.

She hissed in pain as Ermac clamped his hand around the back of her neck, forcing her to stay kneeled on her damaged kneecap, as the other guards circled around her. They all stared down at her with displeased expressions adorning all of their faces; almost as if waiting her to quip some remark in retaliation as her embarrassment seeped into her at her failure.

Her answer, despite fully aware of how she would be paying for her flop, was spoken with a pompous smirk on her face and a shrug of her shoulders...

"I'm willing to negotiate."

The reply to her sarcastic statement was Reptile angrily snarling before stepping forward and kicking her in the face; now unconscious in Ermac's hand.

* * *

An hour passed after Tanya's capture, Rain still missing, as the aftermath settled as heavy and deluded as the smoke outside of the palace walls; most of the fire contained, but the smell still coagulating the air like a dirty morning fog. The smell of the smoke and the destruction abound, served as reminders of the siege orchestrated by two greedy individuals that cared nothing of the chaos they caused and remorseless about how it impacted the residents of the Outworld capital.

All but one person came out of the sanctuary of their locked rooms to view the damage done by the invasion.

The only person who did not leave, hadn't even noticed the fight was over. The only thing that existed and mattered in her world, was the body of the friend whose lay lifeless nearby as her hands tangled in her hair as she sobbed heavily with her back against Erron Black's trunk.

The only thought that ran through her head, only managing to be scarcely noticeable over the sound of her own choked heartbreak echoing in her ears as she shed the physical ache, was the small sound of her trembling voice.

"I-Im s-sorry... I'm s-so s-sorry... p-please... not t-this again..."

The words felt strangled in her throat, her voice feeling like a lump she could not swallow down, especially considering the horrid conclusion she couldn't help but reaching; the only affirmation that made sense and sent a burst of tremendous guilt and rebuke as more tears streamed down her face.

_I did this._

_This is my fault._

Norah cried harder, her chest heaving with every weep ripping out of her like a physical dismemberment. The gravitas of her own personal blame crumbled any forgiving thoughts to offer her as a balm despite her efforts to search for one; only leaving room for her to contemplate that Bert's death was in result of her actions.

If he hadn't come to this room, he would still be alive and the only reason he had done so was because of her.

"...I-I'm s-sorry... I'm s-sorry..."

She knew she was talking to no one, her words only spoken out to narrate her silent torment, however unbeknownst to her, Erron Black looked in on the scene through the broken section of the door; the only witness to her mourning.

He hung his head and walked away. Giving her the space she required until he could gather his thoughts. He would have to call himself a liar if he argued that he didn't have his own sullen thoughts to contemplate as well.


	15. Chapter 15

** Chapter 15   
** **Fight and Flight**

* * *

The only thing that had remained constant were the whispers in her ears and the overwhelming quietness in the room that allowed her to hear them.

_Another one killed..._

**_Was he your father?_ **

_Another one killed..._

_Another one..._

Norah looked towards the sun blazing from beyond the balcony; the amber glow fuzzy as if she saw it from under the surface of choppy water. She shook her head, trying to remove herself from her daze; she was exhausted.

_Three dead. Three loved ones..._

She hadn't moved since Rain and Erron Black had disappeared from the room. Even if she wanted to, there was no way to get out. The injury in her shoulder prevented her from being able to move the cabinet by herself, not to mention the pile of Tarkatan bodies that lay outside the door to further hinder her way out.

In all honesty, she had no desire to get up, nor look to her left; Bert lay dead in that direction. Her eyes remained on her lap as her body throbbed with pain, but it was nothing compared to the even deeper affliction within her. The hollowness, it seemed to be inside of everything: the room, Bert, in her. There was no escaping the silence despite the small voices speaking in mantras in the back of her mind.

_Another loved one killed. Three loved ones. One for certainty that truly cared for me._

Her head pounded with the intensity of fierce drums and as discontented as a mob's. Suddenly, there was an uproar from a different opinion— one that spoke more rationally.

_You barely knew him. Why are you so upset?_

It was muted instantly by the others.

_It was because I barely knew him. What could have been, if there had been more time?_

Although her eyes felt bone dry, at the thought she managed to shed one more tear down her cheek.

_No tears, Norah. They don't change anything._

She could hear his voice in her head the day he told her that; the day he consoled her after she had discovered what Tama had done to her. Another tear in thought to another memory.

_What everybody had done to her._

_I am weak._

Bert had treated her with more respect and more affection than her father had ever showed. Yes, she knew her father had loved her but they both knew that the feeling was mutual between the two; that it was an obligation due to blood.

He had only loved one woman regardless of her faults even after her death and though he never voiced it, in his eyes, she could always tell that her father blamed her for her mother's death just as Norah did. There was never really any _willing love_ between them; if that was even the proper word to describe their relationship.

The only time she had felt she had any paternal figure was with Bert. At first, she thought maybe that was the way he was with everyone. Her intuition kept telling her that hadn't been the case just with what she observed with Carver, Bao, and Abigail. Just like with her father, his eyes always seemed to convey to her that his thoughts regarding her went beyond just normal friendship; perhaps she reciprocated it and he knew it as well.

_An opportunity stolen._

Norah hadn't acknowledged any of this until she mourned him; she had been selfishly wrapped in her own dilemmas to pay attention until now. There were small moments, little clues, that expressed that there had been a longing to feel wanted between them.

It was speechless, but she always knew he felt the same way despite her efforts to remain secluded. She knew Bert had cared for her and she hadn't realized how much until tonight.

He had stopped her from doing something she might regret; her father wouldn't have the nerve to even address it out of fear of an argument.

Bert had tended to her wound; her father would have left her to deal with it on her own or would have done it involuntarily.

Bert had shielded himself in front of her and pulled her away from harm when Rain attacked them. A bitter scoff escaped from her; her father had tried to reason before the first punch, then he had tried to flee out the back door.

It was ironic when she considered it further; that she ached for Bert more than she had her own father. She felt more like an orphan with a man that cared deeply in such a short time than with the man that had raised her all her life.

_What could have been?_

Norah let out a hiss; her shoulder flared with an abrupt razor pain and pulled her from her internal grieving.

She looked down at the torn skin with a scowl when she saw the dried blood caked on her chest and blouse, frozen on her clothes like a raging waterfall. Her whole shoulder continuously throbbed and stung as if an incredibly heavy stone lay pressed uncomfortably on it for days; it sparked when she moved it and every wave of pain ran down her chest and arm.

Her throat also hurt, and she could still feel where the Edenian's hands had crushed his hand-print on her skin. Her voice was hoarse when she had been crying and she suspected it would be for a while.

The knife she had stabbed him with lay just by her side, his blood-stained dark on the blade— confirming to her that she had stabbed another person— something she never thought herself capable of.

She hadn't even realized what she had been doing, all she saw was a blinding red volcanic fire that vanished until he had hit her on the chin and sent her to the floor. He had killed Bert and she wanted to kill him— it was just that simple. Norah didn't even know Black was even in the room, or that she had saved him in the process... she just wanted to kill the Edenian that killed her friend.

Despite the fear she felt by her actions, she felt numb to it. She had stabbed another person. No not a person— a monster— and it felt right; she felt nothing. It was justified and she felt remorseless about it. That fact alone, filled her with trepidation. Why did she feel nothing?

The twinge of pain seemed to help bring her out of her stupor and helped her to ponder more realistically.

Norah almost felt silly putting too much emphasis on Bert's feelings towards her. Maybe it was nothing but a fantasy that she desired for. Something that may never have even been there in the first place.

Her eyes glanced over at Bert and she felt insecurity spread. As she continued to lay her tired eyes on him, she felt a pang of guilt for even considering judging Bert. As if his friendship with her had been nothing more than another stranger in the street walking by.

_No._

_Bert **had** cared._

Norah wiped her face with her hand, sniffling as a hollow shudder tore through her.

_What could have been... if he had never come into this room?_

Her feet shuffled across the floor of Erron Black's room like a prisoner wearing shackles on her ankles, each step sluggish and unbalanced. Her right arm hung limply and painfully, her shoulder smoldering with pain with each movement. She grimaced each time, but eventually walked her way to Black's bed, took the white sheet and dragged the cloth behind her as she walked her way towards Bert.

Her lip trembled and she turned her head to look away as she came closer; his eyes looking up at her from an empty vessel. It was as if she was reliving the same memory but with a different father, she placed the sheet over Bert to cover his body; veiling him as best as she could with one side.

She dropped to her knees and fixed the edges, making sure he was properly covered. There was a fog in her eyes and she heard something hit the white sheet; she knew she was crying again.

_No tears, Norah. They don't change anything._

She wiped them away as if he was speaking the advice to her just now. Just as she had done with her father the day he died in the tavern, Norah lay her hand on Bert's head and sighed when she felt the stiffness of his form through the sheet. She hadn't said anything in regards to her father; it had been a silent good-bye. Although the motions were similar, it was much different and it ached through every inch of her.

"I am sorry..." Norah whispered in a choked voice. "This was my fault... "

Norah could hear voices and movement outside, coming from beyond the balcony. Lifting her hand, as if peeling it from the surface of a cold stone, she picked herself up and shambled over to the balcony. Her foot hit something hard on the way over and caught her attention.

Her eyes immediately narrowed at the sight of Erron Black's revolver that had connected with her foot and boiled with rage at the thought of Black...

Something awful clogged her nose and she coughed uncomfortably at the smell of it, stealing her thoughts away from the mercenary thankfully. Norah walked to the end of the balcony and glanced over the railing.

Below were a various ensemble of slaves, servants and guards piling bodies on wagons and carting them off. Just like the people placing the bodies on the carts, there were different types, but the majority of the corpses were Tarkatan.

A large plume of black smoke lifted from beyond the courtyards; in the same direction the cart was going towards.

They were burning the bodies. Norah could see other columns of smoke darting from behind the parapets in the courtyards and the dwindling gray ones behind the curtain wall of the palace.

The atmosphere of the city and palace felt bitter and angry; resentful of the needless destruction done.

Her thoughts drifted towards the self-proclaimed Edenian Prince. He must have led the attack to capture the throne of Outworld; knowing his reputation and seeing his nepotism firsthand, it made sense.

Her breath caught in her throat at her sudden avowal. Almost as if she could feel his hand wrapped around her throat again, crushing the air from it, she came to the frightening affirmation that he had been in the palace before all of this—and she had run into him.

She had known something was wrong about the guard she had stumbled into and it wasn't until he was in the room did she realize what it was. Had she recognized him sooner, Norah could have alerted someone and stopped all this. Even prevented the attack and Bert's death.

It was an irrational thought, but she should have told someone—anyone— about the guard that didn't seem to fit in the palace. The pillars of smoke seemed to mock her ignorance, adding more weight on her already burdened conscious. More rebuke sat in the pit of her stomach like a vile pool of acid and she felt utterly sick and repulsed with her stupidity.

She halted her pernicious thoughts at one glaring fault. Norah couldn't have been the only one he had run into, but it was still not enough to convince her that perhaps she could have raised awareness.

More guilt, more unsound speculation that felt like venom she couldn't suck out. There were so many things that could have stopped Bert's death that involved her actions.

If she had told someone about the strange guard, Bert would still be alive, and no assault would have happened.

If she hadn't come into this room, Bert wouldn't have followed.

It was fate that she unknowingly and unwillingly played a part in, no matter how many times she tried to remind herself it wasn't her fault. The weak voice that convinced her of her innocence died rather quickly.

The blame was upon her.

An airless and foreboding sensation choked her, overwhelming her as she looked at the horizon beyond the protective walls of Z'unkahrah. The baker heard another voice, this time so loud that it felt as if someone was shouting it in her ear.

_Run!_

The feeling was angry but full of terror and she recalled feeling the same way after the attack in the tavern. There was an urgency to get away— as far as she could.

Norah walked over to the door quickly, grabbed the handle and tried to push. Agony greeted her with every effort to get through the door with no reward; the door wouldn't budge.

The injured cup-bearer continued, her pain turning to anger and anger turning into desperation. Erron Black's room became suffocating, as if it was filling in with sand that would swallow the life from her. She pounded on the door hard with her good hand and let out a frustrated cry. Her head hunched forward and rested against the wood as she breathed heavily; each inhale and exhale doing little to taper how much she wanted to leave.

It wasn't just the room either, but ever since she had entered it, Norah wanted nothing to do with the environment she was in— more so than ever.

It never sat well with her being forced into servitude; the feeling always felt like a scab that festered the more time passed. Things had grown tolerable due to the people she was around, but her opinion had abruptly changed ever since she placed a gun to Erron Black's head.

_You are weak. You let them take your freedom._

Her hand balled into a tight fist; so tight that it was quivering against the surface of the door as she trembled with rage.

"I-I am not a slave," she told herself, the voice rough and strangled as it entered her ears.

_You are weak._

The pain she felt was hardly a contender for the frenzied hellfire that grew in her chest as angry tears began to sting her bruised face.

_No tears Norah. They don't solve anything._

_You are weak._

_Tears do not solve anything, and they do not grant you your freedom._

Her hand went to the doorknob once again and she pulled. Nothing. She continued to pull with no result. The more she tried, the more her efforts grew with indignation. The wound in her shoulder stung excruciatingly, but she bit it back.

_Erron Black humiliated you..._

_Tama stole your freedom..._

_And you let them..._

_You are **weak**._

She released her hand from the door with one last violent tug. More anxious thoughts entered her, swarming angrily in her head like insects biting and mauling at a piece of old fruit.

Norah's eyes landed on the discarded revolver laying on the floor behind her and then towards the ghostly shape on the floor.

_"He knows. I talked to him."_

Bert's words sent a shiver of fretful horror through her. Erron Black knew she put a gun to his head. She let out a bitter, breathy laugh.

It was over.

He would kill her for sure this time.

Contract or no contract with Tama.

Another frustrated tear ran down, and she snatched it off of her face quickly; as if embarrassed by it. Norah stared at the golden metallic revolver, eyeing it once again as if it could once again serve as a reprieve.

_No. I will not be another nameless victim of his cruelty. I will not give him the pleasure to see me beg for my life. My last moments will not be weak ones._

"Tears do not solve anything," she whispered to herself, providing her with reluctant reassurance. Norah walked over and retrieved the gun from the floor and waited for Erron Black to return to his room. Words circled around in her head, forming a small plan on what her next course of action would be.

_Gun._ She would need his gun to get past him and to force Tama to hand over her contract.

_Run. The guards or Erron Black will come after you. Get out of the city. Get past the Kuatan Jungle... Sun Do is on the other side._

_Cut._ _Remove all this and start anew in Sun Do. Lành has waited long enough._

"I will see you soon. I promise, Lành. I will not let you wait any longer."

Tears would not help her get past the mercenary that destroyed her life. Tears would not convince Tama to hand over her contract. Tears would not set her free. Bert was right— tears did not solve anything...

Norah looked around the room, trying to find a place she could hide to get past him. She would have to be smart about this if she was truly adamant about what she wanted to do. She found her answer, and with an uncertain exhale that minutely calmed her nerves, she walked over to where she would wait for him with the revolver in her hand.

"I am sorry to do this, but please understand. I cannot be here. Forgive me Bert, for this."

_I will be weak no more._

* * *

_"Just what in the hell did you do to that girl?"_

_Dammit, Bert. You've been dead a day and your still givin' me a headache._

Erron flopped another Tarkatan body on top of the cart and patted the wooden side, signaling the slave pulling the cart. Black let out a slight cough from the exertion of it but continued to assist.

He was drained from the nights events as if he was rendered with the cholera again, minus the vomiting. His head pounded and his eyes dropped with exhaustion.

Once he was done, he would sleep for a day at least— if he wasn't needed of course.

Ermac and Reptile stalked around the courtyards, looking for any prisoners or Tarkatans that might be lurking about. A guttural scream signaled to Erron that they found one of the two. He turned his head over his shoulder to see the Zatteran with his claws dug deep inside the stomach of one of the escaped prisoners. With a jerk, Reptile flung him off and stepped over him as the prisoner bled on the stone ground.

To say that Kotal Kahn was angry about the ruckus the prisoners made was an understatement. If there were any found, they would be executed.

It was a simple way to make sure the prisoners saw the executioner's blade— even if it was days in advance— as well to punish them for their intolerable crimes during the battle. Tanya, from what he heard, wasn't awake yet, but no doubt would be facing some sort of interrogation. Rain was still missing and that bothered Erron more.

_He killed Bert._

If it was Rain and not Tanya in the cell at the moment, Black was certain he would have given his knee-cap a bullet.

Erron sighed.

_He'll get his._

Black caught movement out the corner of his eye. A prisoner, hoping to get past him undetected made a run for the exit of the courtyard. The gunslinger reached for his gun and found his hand inside an empty holster. He grumbled, reached for the other revolver, lifted it out and shot the prisoner in the back of the head.

The prisoner's head exploded as his body crumpled forward, coating the wall with a crimson splatter and staining the stone ground. Black placed his pistol with a twirl back in his holster and turned to see Ermac and Reptile looking at him briefly before going about their business.

The cowboy looked down at the empty holster and tried to place where he had left it last. Usually, he was able to account for his firearms better than that; any other day he would have known to reach for the only gun he had on him.

Despite his stubbornness, he knew exactly what was pulling his thoughts elsewhere and what it was that was bothering him.

Erron began walking in the direction of where his balcony was, remembering that he had left his rifle there after Rain had tossed it over the ledge.

He couldn't place what he felt. However, as much as he hated to admit it, he was mainly remorseful after what Bert had told him.

For the first couple of minutes after Bert had dragged him into the washroom, allowing Erron to puke, the ex-prisoner had given him quite the reprimanding speech, equal to the one given to the cup-bearer earlier. If he had known that it would be the last time they would speak with each other, perhaps Black would have paid a little more attention. There were a couple of things that did grab the gunslinger, though.

Firstly, it was when Bert had told him what he had walked in on.

_"... I walked in that room and she had a gun ready to go aimed at your head. I know that girl— that is not her. So, I want to know just what in the hell you did to that girl to make her come seconds from blowing your head off!"_

Of course, when Erron had heard what she had done, he wanted to storm out that door, in poor condition or not, and plug her right between the eyes. _Nobody_ puts one of his guns on him. Black remembered trying to stand so he could do it, before Bert gave him a solid jab to the face that sent him right back on his ass. Black rubbed his chin at the thought of it. Bert had a stronger punch than he would have expected from him.

_"You're going to shut up and pay attention, kid."_

_"I ain't your kid, old man."_

Erron always hated when Bert called him that—even back in Earthrealm, when he sprung him from the piece of shit prison, Bert had always called him, kid.

He knew why of course...

_Don't think about him. He's dead. No use in bringin' up what's buried._

Bert hadn't cared that he hated it. Even if he knew, he doubted Bert would have stopped.

_"No, but you used to be somebody's or do you even remember what it feels like to be somebody's kid?""_

Black had to admit, Bert had stumped him with that question. He had pushed it aside. It was a stupid question, but the next one—that had gotten him fired up.

_"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"_ Erron's tone had been annoyed and sharp; which had probably helped indicate to Bert that he was irritated the moment he heard it.

_"I mean to be human. Are you anymore?"_

It should have been a simple one to answer. Yes, he was human if you wanted to narrow it down by what species he was. However, he knew that was not what Bert was asking and it left the words dead in his mouth; perhaps because he was too offended to think of a good enough comeback. Even still he had no answer as he continued to walk. Even hours after the altercation, there was still nothing he could say in response that wouldn't sound like a lie.

_"What were you gettin' at, old man?"_

_"From one prisoner to another, I know what losing hope looks like in a man's eyes. I used to stare at my reflection in the metal toilet of my cell, like some sort of ritual, so I wouldn't ever forget the look. So I would remember what I did to deserve it. I got a second chance, but I know the look of a hopeless man when I see it and you can't hide it from me no matter how much you put up a mean front, Erron."_

Hope? What the hell was he talking about? Erron hadn't lost that, Bert had grown solemn, preaching to him like a dour minister would about Revelations.

_"Maybe you can't even see it anymore because you have done so well blocking it out. I suppose all that time under your belt has helped make it easier to cope with what you lost."_

_"I ain't lost **nothin'**..."_

Black scowled again. Blowing air out of his nostrils as his stride quickened towards the courtyard. He could still picture that sad, pitying smile Bert had given him when he asked: _"Then why are you getting so upset, kid?"_

_"I ain't your goddamn kid and what does it have to do with her pointin' a gun at my head! She's been nothin' but a pain in my ass since day one and I'm **not** letting her get away with almost killin' me!"_

_"Actually, you are going to let her get away with it,"_ Erron didn't like the calm, authoritative tone he used; like a father talking down to a son.

_"Is that right?"_

Bert wasn't swayed by the challenging and threatening tone of his voice; he still looked at him liked an impudent child. It still got under his skin the more he thought of it.

_"You still haven't given me one good reason why she deserves to be treated the way that you have with her. Your claim that she is a pain in the ass is bullshit. I know her— she wouldn't be a pain to you if you didn't keep poking at her with a stick. She's also told me what you've done to her. All the things you said, how you refused to help her when she was in trouble..."_

Erron sighed. Nobody was ever going to let him live that down, were they?

_"And I_ definitely _remember when you put a gun to **her** head."_

Of course, there was that fond memory too.

_"If I remember correctly, **you** were the one that made her deliver the whiskey. Norah told me she wanted nothing to do with it— even tried to back out of it, but _you _came after her! Why? There are plenty of places to get whiskey in Outworld— plenty of smugglers. Why, did you keep coming back to her?"_

_"She didn't deliver and we had a deal."_

_"Not from what she told me. The point is Black, you have no real excuse for hating her as much as you do— especially when you kept bothering her like some punk schoolyard bully. Right now, as much as I hate to admit it, I don't blame her for putting the gun to your head. I would have done the same thing to you. All I'm asking from you Black, is give me an explanation why you hate her enough to kill her and I won't have to think of one for you."_

Black had to admit, he stayed silent after hearing that one. Then, Bert had to ask the one question to him that he had not expected to be asked and wished he hadn't; he certainly wouldn't have come to that assumption if the roles were reversed. Erron scoffed bitterly. He wouldn't have given Bert a lecture at all as a matter of fact; he would have minded his own business like he should have.

_"Who is it that she reminds you of?"_

Those 8 words were like hearing nails being pounded in his own pine box with him awake inside it. Even still, it bothered him as soon as Bert had spoken them.

He didn't know why, but it struck him like lightning in the sand; crystallizing jaggedly inside him and refusing to remove itself. The question ignited an irate flame and he couldn't grasp why it did. Out of all the lectures, from Bert and her, it was that one the hit him the hardest. Bert's mood had changed, and for a moment, it looked as if the question had been intended for Bert himself.

_"She reminds me of my daughter, Rebecca."_

Black didn't know he had a daughter— he had never asked or cared to know. Bert was a tool to him, and you didn't ask a shovel what its personal history was.

_"I was so angry with Rebecca for the longest time. I kept writing these letters, asking her to forgive me for what I did. One day, she gives me a note telling me that she had no father. Norah looks so much like her and hell even acts so much like her. Same green eyes that are so sour when they look at you, but there is a good person underneath all the pain she had to endure because of what people have done."_

_"What's your point and get to it?"_

Bert's eyes had narrowed hard at Erron's exasperated and bored sigh.

_"My point is I think you hate her because she reminds you of someone. You might not even know it, but there was a reason you made a deal and a reason why you treat her like you want nothing to do with her. I know because I almost didn't like her too because of how much she looked like the daughter that tore out my heart."_

_"That girl ain't nothin' to me, but a problem I can't get rid of."_

_"Maybe she feels the same way about you and frankly, you're not giving her a reason to retain any self-control. Next time she has one of your guns... she might just pull the trigger."_

Black rolled his eyes at Bert's words. Over his dead body would she get a hand on one of his guns again. He approached the courtyard and could see the ivory rifle laying underneath the balcony, waiting for its owner to retrieve it. He picked it up, and suddenly Bert's voice rang again in his head.

_"Who is it that she reminds you of?"_

He hated that damn question more than anything. Perhaps because he made it come off a taunt or a challenge that there was no way for Black to win at.

Or because there was no answer to that question that he wanted to admit.

However, Erron still couldn't help but feel there might be a sliver of truth to what Bert had observed and it remained stuck in him like a splinter he couldn't pry out.

For some reason, if he had to speculate, he kept arriving at the night his mother died. It wasn't just watching Rain try and strangle her to death _—_ the same way his mother had met her fate. It was rooted all the way back to when he turned his back that day at her tavern. Erron had watched it as a kid, but he remembered his mother blocking the door, keeping him from harm as he cowered under the bed, and it earning her a backhand for her efforts.

Abraham had come in a little after that...

Black's hand tightened around the rifle as he carried it towards his room, his chest tightening at the memory of the man from long ago.

_Don't think about him, Black._ _Leave it alone._

The answer made sense; the scene played about the same as it did when he was a boy, but it didn't mean that he suddenly felt a kinship with the cup-bearer. Like he told Bert, she didn't remind him of anyone and the fact that all the little scenarios played with familiarity of something that happened in his childhood more than 150 years ago were irrelevant.

It didn't take him long to reach his room and it was even quicker to find when he saw all the Tarkatan bodies piled up in the hallway. Erron stepped over the body of the prisoner that had attacked her earlier—the same one that he had shot.

He recalled when Rain had him in the water bubble, drowning him and almost succeeding at it. She had stabbed him— saved his life. It was ironic, perhaps it was just the unfortunate circumstance of being reluctant enemies on the same side, but no matter how much they hated each other, they had both saved each other. They were even.

He wondered if she was even still inside his room. He knew the answer, she was still in there, but he was hoping she was gone so he wouldn't have to deal with her. He wasn't in the mood.

He approached the door, the Tarkatans dead and cold as they blocked the door to his room. He looked inside the hole that had been broken by one of the brutes earlier. Last time he had watched her crying over Bert.

That bothered him as well...

Reminded him of his mother... same way Abraham had found him...

_STOP IT!_

He didn't see her inside but knew that she was in there, most likely under the bed or in the washroom and scared of what he might do to her. There was nothing disturbed in the room and he knew that she would never be able to get through the hole in the door. The only thing that was different was that Bert had a sheet over his body and he grimaced at that; it made him feel even more guilty.

One by one, he moved the Tarkatan bodies out of the way of the door, rolling them across the floor and placing them against the wall on the opposite side.

It made a bloody mess, coating the hallways ground in a layer of dried and fresh blood that would take forever to get out, not to mention all the bits of blown skull and chunks of flesh that would need to be picked up.

He checked through the hole one more time, an uneasiness settling in his gut as much as he hated to admit it. He couldn't understand why until he noticed that something was missing from the room.

The revolver that Rain had managed to knock loose from his hand was missing from the floor.

" _Next time she has one of your guns... she might just pull the trigger."_

He doubted she would, but the fact of how angry she was and she had previously tried to do it, caused him to mentally count how many bullets had been left in the revolver before Rain got it away from him.

It was empty if he remembered correctly, but that didn't mean she couldn't have learned how to reload it if she had the opportunity. Erron wasn't entirely confident what he would walk into, but he knew he was heading into some sort of blowup _—_ verbal or physical.

_Knock it off, Black. Just disarm her._

He opened the door and entered, pushing the door with a couple of shoulder slams to knock the cabinet enough to allow him to squeeze through. Sliding in, he looked around the room for her. He looked down at Bert's covered body briefly before he used the lever to discard the remaining bullets inside, pocketed the rounds and tossed the rifle on the bed, before walking over to the washroom.

He pulled out his gun from his holster, just as a way to intimidate her into handing over his revolver; unfortunately he was still on the fence if he should kill her or not thanks to Bert.

He opened the washroom door quickly and looked around. A frown crept on his face when he saw it was empty. He was certain this was where she would hide. Erron looked at the next possible spot _—_ under the bed. As he walked closer to the bed, underneath he could make out a shape that was blocked by the disturbed sheets.

"I know you're under there," Black growled. He cocked his revolver, loud enough for her to hear. "I think you and I need to have a discussion about puttin' my gun to my head."

There was silence and the shadow underneath the bed didn't move an inch. He narrowed his eyes in anger, each second ticking by and making him more impatient. After waiting a full minute, he let out an annoyed grumble in his chest and dropped to his hands and knees. His attention to the bed, he reached in and grabbed for her. He expected shrieking, fighting, and cursing, but instead he felt something cold and stiff.

His eyes widened in alarm and with speed, he pulled the sheet from the bed and saw Bert staring at him from under the bed.

He heard footsteps behind him and realized his mistake before he heard the gun cocked and the barrel pressed into the back of his head. Erron closed his eyes in complete discontent.

_Under the sheet... Dammit, should have seen it._

"What do you want to talk about?" she questioned, her voice hoarse but deadpan. The gun pushed into his skull harshly. "About how it _feels_ to have a gun in your head? It does not feel good, does it?"

His eyebrows shot up briefly at how low her voice was; she sounded deadly serious enough to kill—if there _were_ any remaining bullets in the chamber like he believed to be. Still... that didn't mean she hadn't reloaded it with the bullets from his gun boxes in proximity.

She may have gotten the drop on him, not something that happened often _—_ he blamed it on the exhaustion _—_ but this would not end well for her.

"Get your hand off your gun," she ordered with an icy low tone.

He tilted his head and lifted his hand off his revolver, placing his palm flat on the ground right next to it. She hadn't asked him to kick it away like he would have done and took advantage of it.

"R-Raise your hands up... away from the gun."

_Damn._ He continued to play along and placed them as close to each ear without drawing suspicion. He could still whirl around, snatch it from her before she even knew what was going on, but he would give her one last chance to reconsider the stupid idea she was doing.

"You're in over your head if you think you'll still have one once this is over and I get my gun back," he warned.

"The only head you should be concerned about is yours," she returned malignantly.

"You ain't gonna shoot me. You didn't before and you're not gonna do it now. Get it outta my head and maybe I'll let you walk away," he challenged with a thorny tone.

She said nothing, but instead he felt the gun pushed even harder into the back of his head and it made his lip curl. He could hear her breathing raggedly _—_ each breath more furious than the last.

Erron felt the end of the barrel begin to vibrate in his hair and against his skull. She was either nervous or angry by the way she was trembling the gun, and he would have guessed the former, but it was disregarded by what she told him next.

"Do you really _believe_ it would be difficult to pull the trigger after everything you have done?" she scoffed indignantly. "Men—no— _things_ like you are incapable of feeling anything like penance for your actions! You deserve this."

The genuine animosity of her words began to make him reconsider letting her continue, but she wasn't done and he knew she didn't have the gall to pull it.

"I did NOTHING to you and yet you came into my life and destroyed EVERYTHING!" every word trembled with hatred from her hoarse voice. "Do NOT presume to think I will not after what you did to me! You turned me into nothing when you brought me here! I have NOTHING because of you and not ONCE were you ever SORRY!"

He could hear her voice breaking with each heated declaration; she was completely hysterical and rattled— enough to be out of her already foolish mind.

_"Your claim that she is a pain in the ass is bullshit. I know her— she wouldn't be a pain to you if you didn't keep poking at her with a stick. She's also told me what you've done to her. All the things you said, how you refused to help her when she was in trouble..."_

Maybe that was all she wanted. Just to hear a damn apology to end all this; for him to cast his pride away once and admit to the faults he knew he was guilty of. There was no way to refute it. Black knew what he did was wrong and despite his deep-rooted stubbornness, if an apology was all that she wanted and was willing to nearly kill him for, then fine he'd give her one.

"Look, if you wanna hear me say it _—_ then I'm sorry, alright. Now give me my goddamn gun."

The words left his lips with an insincere tone despite his efforts to cover them with forced remorse. There was a weighty and distressing silence in the room and he felt the gun press even harder into the back of his skull, enough to bruise.

"You are _sorry...?_ " she whispered with a heated spat.

Erron frowned. It was a fake apology and she knew it was.

"Do you want to know what the problem with your apology is?" she questioned, her tone wavering with indescribable resentment.

He narrowed his eyes and looked over his shoulder slightly, his hands prepared to snatch the gun even though he knew she wouldn't pull the trigger. He could barely make her out of his peripheral. She looked absolutely maddening, dangerous and indescribably livid. He could feel the gun shaking, each tremor a pittance in showing how furious she was in her eyes. He had expected her to say something that _'his apology didn't sound genuine'_ or _'say it for real.'_ Instead, even he had to admit he shrunk at the words that came through her teeth.

"It is just not _good_ enough!"

_Click._

Black couldn't help but flinch.

She had pulled the trigger.

He heard a choked but startled gasp escape from her lips. "No."

_Click._

Again?!

"NO!" An enraged and frustrated scream left her, blaring in his ears and making him cringe.

Black circled around and grabbed his revolver as he turned on his knees. He latched on to it by the barrel and pulled it out of her grasp _._ She let out a startled yelp when it left her hands and backed away slowly in horror as he holstered the empty gun and grabbed the other one from the floor.

Erron pointed it at her but didn't wrap a finger around the trigger, both of them just stood there equally as distempered and shocked.

She pulled the trigger. She had tried to kill him! He was a lucky son of a bitch that all his bullets had been spent on Rain, but unlike the gun she had used on him, this one was loaded with live rounds and they both knew it.

The cup-bearer looked completely aghast at him for a moment, understanding the levity of what she had done. She began to pant heavily with utter fright. He noticed a tear roll down her bruised face as her eyes closed tightly; as if mentally accepting her death sentence.

Erron looked at her terrible state with a sullen glower. She looked absolutely battered and defeated, but the intense, nasty look of hatred in her eyes that she flashed him with made her look almost inhuman.

It wasn't hard for him to come to the conclusion that she wasn't only haunted by the possibility he might kill her now, but more so that her plan did not succeed.

Just like with him, it was evident that the events of the night had taken a toll on her, and it wasn't just obvious by the mess she was: from the torn clothing, the stab wound that had finally dried on her, from her matted dirty hair and the bruises that were painted on her neck and face from Rain's hands.

This was supposed to be her last stand against him, and she could see how ashamed and outraged by her failure she was.

She calmed herself enough to tilt her chin up at him in defiance, although her breathing was apprehensive and unsteady. "I am not going to beg."

_Right now, as much as I hate to admit it, I don't blame her for putting the gun to your head. I would have done the same thing to you. All I'm asking from you Black is give me an explanation why you hate her enough to kill her, so I won't have to think of one for you."_

It was like deja vu all over again. He could kill her right now. Just a simple squeeze of the trigger and his problem would be solved. She even deserved it for the stunts she pulled: From her speech, refusing to give him water, for the three claw marks he had healing on his face, and from almost shooting him in the head with his own gun— twice.

Yet, just like the moment in her room, when he wanted nothing more than to get rid of her, because he had thought that she was the reason of all his aggravation, he still could not do it.

Instead and much like then, he still had no conviction against her like Bert had pointed out. _He_ had provoked _her_. It was wrong then and it still was despite what she had done in one night.

Erron had brought it all upon his own head and she was just the enforcer of the repercussions he deserved. The gun started to feel heavy in his hand the more guilt settled within him, especially when he saw the outcome of his handiwork standing in front of him; understandably seething at him and waiting with gloomy anticipation for him to pull the trigger.

_"Just what in the hell did you do to that girl?"_

_"I don't blame her for putting the gun to your head. I would have done the same thing to you."_

_"The point is Black you have no real excuse for hating her as much as you do."_

_"Do you see what you are?! Nothing but an arrogant, ungrateful, son of a whore!"_

_"...you came into my life and destroyed EVERYTHING... I have NOTHING because of you and not ONCE were you ever **SORRY**!"_

Perhaps he was out of his damned mind, perhaps it was because of the expenditure of all his energy trying to rid himself of the cholera and the fight that had taken place in the palace. Or maybe, he was just done running around in circles with the guilt that had taken possession of him for the longest time.

" _Human. Are you anymore?"_

Bert's words had made him sound like some sort of irredeemable villain with no soul. It wasn't just Bert as well...

_"Men— no— **things** like you are incapable of feeling anything like penance for your actions!"_

This was what she viewed him as well? He couldn't help but ponder that this might be what everyone saw him as. There was no denying what Bert and the cup-bearer had assumed about him, might have a layer of truth to it.

The reflection made him feel even more sullen about his actions. He couldn't remember the last time he had ever felt this for his behavior. He had gone through Outworld learning never having to take account for anything because in the end, there was no one in Outworld whose opinion mattered. Just his and it was something that he was complacent with.

Never once had he considered how he had affected others.

Before him was the evidence of the mark he left.

Being held responsible for something a normal human being would never do unless for the sick enjoyment of it, made him feel disgusted with himself.

Erron was pulled from his thoughts when she marched briskly over to him, grabbed the gun in his hand and placed the barrel into her chest. His eyes lifted to hers and being even closer, he could see the sheer contempt for every transgression he had committed against her. Her green eyes were dark and ardently venomous.

"Do it. Prove to me what I always knew you were," she imposed with a vindictive tone.

"And what's that?" he asked, his voice low and despondent.

Her eyes darkened at him like a cruel demon. "Heartless."

It sounded like a simple dare but they both knew it wasn't—she was taunting him. A callous smirk pulled on her mouth and it told him all he needed to know, that she truly was calling his bluff. A spark of anger ignited at her words and the spiteful smile that dawned on her lips. Despite that he had the gun, they both knew who was in control.

" _Human. Are you anymore?"_

A hot scoff escaped Erron's mouth and he shoved the gun into her chest, using it to push her backwards _—_ away from him.

A hand went over the area where he jabbed the gun into her chest as he lowered the revolver. At first, she looked at him with mild surprise, before the tough persona she was acting sponged every bit of how miserable and infuriated he was with himself that he could not do it. _Why_ could he not do it?!

"You want a real apology from me?" he snapped suddenly with contempt. "The door's your apology. Go— before I change my mind."

A breathy laugh entered the room, bordering both on impish and disbelieving. "I can pull the trigger... but you cannot? How ironic. I will go through the door, but that does not mean I will accept your apology. I want you to _always_ feel guilty for what you did."

"GET OUT!" he roared, his grip on the gun tightening.

She backed out of the room, flinching suddenly at his outburst. She shook her head at him, scoffing at his stony look with self-gratification and left with parting words that both befuddled and enraged him. "You never deserved Bert and I hope the next cup-bearer that you treat horribly has bullets in the gun that I did not."

Black snarled, his hand around the handle of his gun so hard his palm began to ache. She exited out the door hastily, leaving him fuming where he stood.

Erron wanted to chase after her, plant a bullet in the back of the head for her words and the triumphant defeat she thought she had accomplished, even though she did not get to blow his head off.

Instead, he holstered the gun and clenched his fists. Failing to come up with an explanation why once again, he could not pull the trigger.

* * *

It wasn't anywhere near what she deemed satisfactory. However, she was still content that she had left his room alive. Norah hadn't expected him to stay true to what Bert promised, especially since she had antagonized him.

Like Bert had told her, though, he had not retaliated like she had expected _—_ even after she had bit at him to do so. Though it truly was an apology, more or less, as soon as she had heard it she felt nothing.

There was no fulfillment in it. The first cheap apology he had told her, she had been completely honest when she had told him she felt it was not good enough.

Still, it was the same. Wickedly, she preferred leaving him remorseful than apologetic— although both did little to ease her chagrin. Just as she had promised him, there would never be forgiveness for what he had done no matter how many times he spoke the words, or how much he honestly conveyed it.

Although, she would not stay long enough for him to do either. He was not dead, but his anger was an acceptable enough achievement for her to depart with. Still, Norah was far from done.

There was still one more aggressor she would have to overcome to be granted freedom from the palace. The same someone that had played the biggest contributing part in ruining her life. There was a confidence after her encounter with Black, but there was also concern scratching at the back of her mind. Erron Black may have been the more dangerous of the two, but Tama's ruthlessness was not something that Norah could avoid overlooking.

It would certainly be the most irritating of the two dragons— just because she was passed all patience.

When Norah turned the corner, walking in the hallway of where Tama's room was, she frowned deeply when she saw the woman had not died in the attack on the palace as she would have hoped.

Instead, she was observing the guards take the body of a dead servant girl down the hallway just outside her bedroom door. The knife was tucked in the back of her dress, covered as best as Norah could by the fabric of the cloth belt she wore. Norah doubted she would need to pull it; she was only reserving it for when she got out of the palace, but it was reassuring to have it on her nonetheless.

Tama noticed her coming towards her and saw the older Outworld woman's eyebrows raise up in alarm before bridging in disappointment.

"Well you have made a mess of yourself," Tama commented, a frown on her face as she took in her appearance. Tama's eyes landed on the wound on her shoulder. "You were attacked, I see."

Norah gave her a befuddled look in response to how irate she was to see the wound in her shoulder.

Tama shook her head with dissatisfaction. "Stupid of you. That will leave an ugly scar."

Norah gave a chafe scoff at her words. "Stupid?" Her green eyes narrowed with scalding hatred at her. "The only thing I think was _stupid_ , was signing that contract."

"Stupidity that you shall have to live with then," the older woman monotoned, but still gave a cynical smile.

Norah wanted nothing more than to reach into the back of her dress, grab the knife and slice the woman's condescending smile off her face with the blade. Her employer looked down at her unimpressed, her head tilting to the side as she observed her as nothing but a mouse.

"No matter," Tama sighed with annoyance. "I shall have yet _another_ uniform made for you. I shall make sure that your wound heals properly. Hopefully, it heals."

Norah took a step towards her, earning a startled look briefly from Tama. "Do not trouble yourself, you repulsive witch."

Tama's eyes narrowed and she took her own step towards the girl, showering her in her taller and more dominant shadow. "My… aren't we bitter and feisty."

Norah didn't shrink under the woman this time and returned her cool look with a sharp one of her own. "I am _not_ bitter..."

Tama's lips flickered with anger at the words. Norah approached her, both of them close enough to feel the heat from each other. Norah seethed the words through her teeth.

"I am _mad_ as Hell. I am done with you. I want my contract."

Tama's hand shot out, grasping over her wound enough to elicit a cry of pain from Norah. The baker hissed through the agonizing pain as the woman dug her thumb over her flesh, yet another way for Tama to try and control her. Norah couldn't help but feel her body hunch forward, naturally trying to get away from her hand.

Tama lifted her chin with a pompous disposition before a disgusted look crossed her face when Norah's blood started to bleed on her hand. "Run along back to your dough, little girl, before I send you _crawling_ back."

Norah felt a spark of rage at her words and used her opposite hand to reach into the back of her dress and pull the knife.

Tama let out a shriek when Norah sliced the top of the woman's wrist. The older woman pulled her hand to her chest, covering the cut that Norah could already tell was seeping through the cracks of her enclosed fingers. She released her hand, looking at the shallow but long cut that went from the top of her wrist and 3 inches down her arm.

Tama looked at the Earthrealm girl with wrathful bewilderment as Norah held the knife out in front of her.

"I want the contract you forced me to sign," Norah demanded, her green eyes blazing at the woman.

"I could kill you for this, you filthy little Earthrealmer!" Tama declared, holding up her injured arm, already running in an angry ruby river down her arm.

Norah's lip curled up into a sneer, her eyes narrowed in suspicion at her. "All you would accomplish is setting yourself back. I do not know what it is you actually want from me, but you will never get it."

Tama dropped her arm, the woman's anger bristling at Norah's words. "I will. You are a slave. A _weak_ , little Earthrealm slave. It suits you, just as I knew it always would. Run back to your bread, servant girl, before I get a guard to make you."

Before Norah could say another word, the woman turned her back on her. The cup-bearer stormed behind the woman and flew open the door that Tama tried to close on her.

Tama spun on her heels, an apathetic annoyance on her face. Norah, tired and wounded but mostly impassioned with ire, grabbed for the woman with a scream, managing to grab her by the front of her shirt with her good hand, the knife placed horizontally against the balled up material of her shirt.

"The only place I am running to is away from you, you bitch!"

Tama was only taken aback for a moment before her face contorted into one of scathing fierceness; it was only minuscule in comparison to Norah's look of fervid hatred towards the woman. Her employer tried to reach for her shoulder again, but this time Norah anticipated it. With a vehement scream she impaled the blade into Tama's forearm, just below where the elbow connected.

A scream of pain escaped loudly from Tama's lips, distracting her enough for Norah to knock Tama into the hallway; using all the remaining strength she had.

Fortunately, the older woman was only focused on the blade that protruded in her arm. It was not a deep stab and the blade teetered to the side, almost falling away from her flesh. Tama grabbed the knife and pulled it with a wail before she set her eyes on Norah, who was already at Tama's door.

Norah slammed and locked it before Tama had a chance to get up. The baker slid the large wooden bolt across the length of the door with her good hand and let out a sigh of relief, the affliction in her shoulder burning even more from the scuffle. Norah took a moment against the door, her eyes tight with agony as her shoulder burst into extreme drilling pain. She let out a small whimper, waiting for it to pass.

The cup-bearer could hear Tama on the other side of the door, banging on it and demanding that she open the door immediately. She ignored her at the door and the affliction in her shoulder, remembering why she came here in the first place. Norah set to work, walking over towards the woman's desk, and searched through any document she could find.

A headache formed after several minutes of rummaging, none of the papers were contracts; every parchment she found was worthless. Norah felt desperate despair take a hold of her. _Where is it?!_ Norah slid the forms off the desk with a shove, casting them to the floor as she continued to explore Tama's desk.

Hearing the papers flutter softly to the ground drew her attention and it was only then she noticed how quiet it was. Tama was not at the door anymore.

Norah felt her chest constrict with terror. Tama was getting a guard no doubt. Norah had the suspicion that Tama wouldn't kill he _r,_ but she did not want to linger to see what her punishment would involve.

_Run!_

Norah began making her way towards the door, rounding the table and using her uninjured hand to guide her along. Accidentally, she knocked over the trinkets that littered the woman's desk and brushed one off in particular. The box that sat on her desk clattered to the ground and forced the lid to spring open. Norah noticed the content in the box out of the corner of her eye and it was enough to halt her instantly.

By her foot was something Norah didn't recognize at first. It was small, oval, gray, withered and shrunken by time. Norah couldn't take her eyes off it, trying her hardest to figure out what it was. Gingerly, she reached down and picked it up.

It was leathery and dry in her hands. She kept coming to the conjecture that it was flesh and she did not know why. Unexpectedly, it made her think of Ferra and Torr because of her theory, mainly about the gift that was given to her by the symbiotic duo.

The eyes that were in the bag. It reminded her of it. _"It Ferra/Torr favorite!_ "

A sickening realization suddenly flooded her and instantly she dropped it from her hands with a shocked gasp.

Abigail... By the Elder Gods... what was this woman she signed a contract with?

There was a brash set of knocking at the door. "Open!"

Norah's face fell when she heard the man's voice— it couldn't be anything else but a guard. Despite it, she knew all that she would have to do was get past him.

_Run!_

Contract or no contract. She was too close to give up.

Norah grabbed a blue and white decorative vase, the closest one nearby. She held it by the rim, her shoulder aching in pain by the weight of the heavy jar that was causing her to lean slightly to one side.

Just one hit... just one hit was all she would need.

"Open this door girl!"

Norah reached for the handle, preparing herself and praying to whatever deity that was listening, to take pity on her and allow her to escape this hell; the same putrid and unbearable hell that she should have never been a guest of in the first place.

She slid the door open, but before she could lift the vase to strike it against the guard's head, the door exploded open and knocked her on her back. A groan escaped her, her eyes shut in agony and heard the vase clang with a violent shatter against the stone ground.

Before she had a chance to open her eyes, a foot planted on her chest. Her eyes flew open and above her was a guard that stood over her, behind him, Tama glowering like a menacing but triumphant devil. The guard grabbed her by the shoulders, and she thrashed as he pulled her to her feet. Her shoulder tore open and she let out a howl. His hands were unkind as they encircled around her, holding her still against him with each hand on her biceps and her back to his chest.

Norah hung her head, the small efforts to get free pitiful. Anguish filled her and her devotion to escape crumpled within her like pillars of an ancient city.

She would not be free.

At least for now...

Tama came forward, her disposition stoic but her amber eyes cloudy with ridicule and disdain. Her eyes cast towards the floor briefly, looking upon the shattered vase that lay in pieces.

"That was my favorite vase," she stated with a matter of fact tone.

Norah's face twisted with a scowl, trying one last time to wiggle herself out of the guard's hands. She grimaced with pain at her movements before she heard Tama come towards her and grab onto her face.

The woman's nails dug brutally into her skin, so hard she could feel her nails cut through the layer of skin of her cheeks. Tama forced her to look at her, a side-lifted smile on her face that was completely elated at Norah's failure.

"Do not mistake my need for you as softness," Tama warned her with ominous and haughty tone. "There are many ways I can break you."

Norah glared at the woman before she spat at her. Tama flinched in repulsion before she glowered, released Norah and slapped her sharply across the face with her palm, before she wiped the saliva from her face.

Norah smiled, even though her face stung. "You never will."

"Take her to a cell until I feel like letting her eat," Tama snarled. The guard gave a curt nod and led Norah out the door, Norah unwillingly walking with him as he forced her out.

As soon as Norah left Tama's room, she allowed a tear to finally flow down her face. Complete dread rolling in her like a desolate fog. She had been so close, and all the risks proved to be unfruitful in the end.

As he led her lower down to the dungeon, both of them passing by corpses of Tarkatans, prisoners, and servants that hadn't been collected yet, Norah secretly felt paralyzing fear about what future consequences her actions would bring to her once Tama released her from the dungeon cell she was going to live in.

The fear filled her with a fierce determination, however. This was just one chance. There would be other chances; she just had to come up with a new plan. This was an unfortunate setback, but that was all that it was.

She would be free.

No matter what she would have to do.

No matter whoever she had to harm to do it.

She would get to Sun Do.

Norah and the guard finally arrived at a cell door. The dungeon was tremendously stuffy and humid and she could feel sweat already pouring on her skin just from the short time it took him to unlock the door and push her in. Her home was made of bumpy stone and wood, the only window and light she was granted was the iron bars on the wooden door. It was dark and musty and smelled rancid like sewage.

The imprisoned cup-bearer walked over to the farthest corner she could navigate in the dark, the light from the torches outside the cell the only substitute of sunlight she would be granted for a while.

Sliding down the wall, the stones in her back uneven and jarring, she sat on her bottom.

"I am sorry Lành," she whispered to herself. The words cheerless and regretful. "I tried. Just a little longer to wait. I promise."

Unbeknownst to her, the only other person that occupied a dungeon cell woke to the distorted and heartbroken words of a woman in a cell across from her. Her knee was in agonizing pain— as well as every inch of her olive skin. The iron cuffs on her, enchanted, hindered her from removing them with her flames.

An ironic smirk curved on her face until she heard the whimpering in the cell across from her. She rolled her eyes in disgust. She hoped she wouldn't be crying this entire time. Otherwise, this would be the cruelest torture that she would have to endure in comparison to what she was anticipating. It didn't last long thankfully and she wondered who it was in the cell across from her she could pass the boredom with until Kotal Kahn came for her.

"How sweet," Tanya mused to herself. "They gave me a friend."


	16. Chapter 16

** Chapter 16   
** **Never Smile At A Crocodile**

* * *

Rain woke up groggy aware of two things: somehow he had managed to make it inside a cave in the Kuatan Jungle that he honestly had no recollection of. The second was the amount of pain he was in.

He adjusted his eyes as the sunlight beat down on him even inside the confines of the shallow, dark cave. Even on the position on his back, he could barely make out it was midday and by the severe discomfort in his stomach, he suspected he had been laying in the cave for some time. His hunger was the least of his worries.

Rain's vision was blurry and the blood that soaked in his mask felt glued on to his skin. Despite the bullet in his side, the stab wound in his shoulder, the multiple and various colored bruises he felt, his nose that was in agonizing pain, the biggest injury was the one done to his pride.

Kotal Kahn had won.

He had been so close to the throne and it had been snatched away from him yet again.

Another plan foiled and more failure. His physical injuries were pale in comparison to the intensity of rage he felt bubbling within him.

_This is not over._

He would have his throne no matter how long it took him to accomplish it.

Recovering slowly, in the distance over the chatter of the jungle animals, he could make out the sound of flowing water nearby. The noise was faint and he had a suspicion it was just a delusion caused by the blinding waves of pain that rolled over his body frequently. Still, he braced his elbows against the jagged rocks of the cave and lifted himself up.

The Hydromancer let out pained grunts the more he rose to his feet; each groan more audible the more pain rushed over him. Using the rocks, he guided himself towards the exit of the cave and stumbled into the humid emerald forest.

He staggered like a drunk and hobbled like an old cripple through the jungle; barely managing to guide himself towards the sound of the rushing water.

His body began to sweat from a mixture of exertion and the sweltering jungle heat; the canopy of trees above doing little to provide shade. Rain felt disgusting enough already with the caked blood and sweat from the fight in the palace; now joining another layer of sweat to add to his already odious clothes. To look and feel so defeated was beneath him and he hated it. At least he knew the water would help with both grievances.

The water would not only wash him but also help heal him. He could hear that he was drawing closer to it with each weak and painful movement over the roots and foliage. His strength in his legs and arms were feeble and every effort was draining but still the promise of water nearby was enough to keep him moving forward.

Through his blurred eyesight, he could see the river nearby through a clearing of trees.

The water gleamed like a wide cobalt sanctuary as it flowed softly in front of him. It was inviting and he felt his body colliding into trees for brief rest.

The second he was near the water, he fell to the ground and crawled his way towards it. Dragging himself in the mud, he made his way to the shore and buried himself in the cold water. Rain let out a pleasurable moan as the water washed him in its forgiving embrace. The current by the shore was subtle but still tried to pull him into the river. Rain pushed himself towards the edge with his bottom on the sandy bottom of the riverbed and wrapped his arm around a root that was growing by the river's shore.

Like blood in his veins, he could already feel it's presence flowing within him and seeking out each wound to tend.

He leaned his head back as the day passed, the water gradually healing his wounds. The pain was still abhorrent, but it was subsiding. Rain would need to remain in the river for a day or so if he wanted to return to full strength, but he knew he could not wait that long.

Tanya was still with Kotal Kahn and he had no doubt that she would reveal their selected rendezvous location to him for leniency. The plan was his and knew she would convey it to Kotal Kahn very adamantly despite her participation in it.

They had chosen the cave outside of the village they had taken over, mainly because of how close it was to Z'unkaharah.

Rain knew better than to return to the cave and as the water healed his body, it also helped restore clarity of how he had ended up in the Kuatan Jungle. Even in his battered state, he knew better than to trust Tanya and go to the cave. The Kuatan Jungle was vast and even if she informed the Osh-Tekk that he would most likely run to it, it would be harder to find him.

He wasn't planning on turning himself into a permanent resident of the jungle. He would hide elsewhere once he was capable of travel. Rain let a small smirk cross on his face. Even though she was a fellow Edenian, her testament of where Rain was would prove inadequate in capturing him, Kotal would be frustrated and have her executed. The Hydromancer let out a small chuckle at the thought.

_Your traitorous ways have finally caught up with you. Cannot say that it was hard to predict they would._

With his arm hooked into the root and the sun beginning to set behind the trees, he allowed himself to close his eyes and drift off to sleep.

* * *

The night blanketed the jungle in darkness when he woke and felt the narrow edge of a spear tip pressed into the side of his exposed throat.

Rain hadn't even heard anyone approach him from behind. Otherwise, he would have woken up but could tell they were behind him on the bank and carrying a torch in the opposite hand; the amber glow flickered against the surface of the water like glittering carnelian stones.

"Son of Argus or not," a child-like feminine voice behind him began, her tone strangely pompous for a child. "The rivers do not belong to you and I would not linger in them for so long."

Rain felt his lip curl in annoyance. How dare a mere child threaten him - especially when she knew who he was. She should know better. He would teach her a lesson her parents should have.

He raised the hand that was submerged in the water and teleported. Despite the water healing him slightly, the effort drained him and as he emerged behind the child and spun on his heels, he found himself struck with the blunt end of the spear. The attack surprised him as much as he hated to admit it. Even though it was a blow from a child, his damaged jaw still twinged with pain.

The child was not alone, behind her, the one holding the torch was a man, and much to Rain's surprise, they were both Edenians. Something he was barely able to tell under the layer of their barbaric appearance.

The man accompanying her was Edenian for sure, despite he wore many years of living in the jungle on him. He was much older than Rain with a face that was tan and weathered by the elements.

Despite the night, the torch provided enough light for Rain to make out the burns on the right side of his face that stretched across the top of his forehead, over his bald head and stopped at the distorted shape of flesh where his ear used to be.

His mustache was long and braided; both dark ends reaching towards his collarbone. He wore a long, tan cape that was mismatched and sewed together with different hides of animals. Under the poncho, he was bare except for the red sarong around his hips. Except for torch, he also had a quiver of arrows and a dark longbow draped horizontally over his chest with the string facing towards Rain.

Rain also noticed that the outside of his arms and chest were adorned with decorative tribal scarring that resembled scales. The ones on his arms ran in a narrow line from his elbows to the top of his shoulder while the other set ran parallel over his pectoral muscles and stopped at his stomach. Rain felt his lip curl up when they instantly reminded him of that wretched Zattteran.

The child was Edenian, but the Hydromancer could sense she was also a mixture of some other lineage. Her skin was olive-toned like Tanya's, but a shade darker.

She was a perplexing little creature and far more interesting than her older male accomplice who Rain could figure out instantly he was a warrior.

Her clothing was far more intricate. The girl wore a long, sleeveless indigo colored dress decorated with white shells that were stitched in diamonds shapes. She bore none of the scars that the man wore. Most of her skin was unflawed besides the red tattoos that ran horizontally on each cheek of her face.

Besides the dress, her hair long wiry hair was braided down her back. She wore an amethyst pendant on a gold chain that caught Rain's eye for a moment. It was a rough stone; as if it was broken apart from a smoother gem and held together by strings of gold wire-wrapped around it. The girl noticed him peering at it and let out a giggle that caused him to look at her face again.

There was something unsettling about the girl, who seemed more to gaze right through Rain than at him. Her blue, cyan colored eyes were vibrant even in the darkness and held maturity for one so young. The eyes... they seemed as unnatural as her stoic demeanor and they alone sent a flicker of alertness through Rain.

She gave him an innocent smile as she walked towards him, using her spear that was far too long for her as a walking stick with each step.

"You mistake our intentions, Prince Rain. I am but a messenger," the child admitted with a peaceful tone. "You see it is Zorvul who owns this river and he shares it with no other descendant of Argus."

"You are fortunate," the older man gave a dark humored smirk. "Zorvul is _particular._ Though he has known the make the rare exception depending on his hunger."

Rain flashed the male with a scowl.

"Chaeomi mentioned you would be difficult to locate," he stated. "Though she knew you would seek water. Our Chajman is never wrong."

The corner of the girl's mouth lifted into a small smirk and it was not difficult for Rain to understand that he was referring to his little escort.

Rain narrowed his eyes. "And for what purpose were you searching for me?"

The man indicated to the girl with a wave of his hand. Rain found it rather irritating for some reason that this man was taking orders from something so small and weak. Nevertheless, he tossed out the thought for a moment.

"Why?" Rain demanded again.

"We wish to offer you sanctuary," Chaeomi announced with a soothing tone. "A fellow Edenian— a Son of Argus—is more than welcome. You are wounded. We will see that you heal properly. The servants of Ko'atal Kahn will not find you here despite what Tanya will tell him."

Rain flashed the girl with a speculative look. How did this girl know all this? The arctic colored eyes narrowed minutely at him, almost as if in a challenging manner as her head cocked to the side. She could see the distrust in him and she did not approve of it.

The Hydromancer threw them both a hot look of defiance before he turned his heel and back to them. "I am not a mere dog that can be summoned. Follow me and I will snatch the life from you both."

Rain let out a howl when something pierced his shoulder from the back and exited out the front. The Hydromancer fell to his knees and grasped his wounded shoulder; already weeping with blood.

The girl had pierced him with the spear— something unexpected. Rain growled as his hand wrapped around the spear tip; a powering dizziness beginning to overwhelm him.

Before he could retaliate, he felt the end of the spear yank him back. His torso was forced to straighten and he let out a howl of pain before the spear pushed down, and he found himself crouched over the jungle floor like a servant; he gripped the dirt with animosity. His blurry vision fixed on the girl's sandaled feet. He made a weakened swing at her that she dodged by merely turning her body to the side. The bodyguard gave the spear a twist as a warning— he cried out.

The girl glanced around at the floor before her eyes lighted up. Rain grimaced, breathing painfully through his gritted teeth in rage when he saw her pick up a rock.

"Do not think of it as a summons," Chaeomi corrected as she looked down at the round stone in her hand with indifference. Her unnatural colored eyes fixed on him and she smiled at him. With more strength than what was expected to come from her, she bashed him on the side of the head with the rock.

Rain suddenly felt hiss arms buckle and found himself face down on the jungle floor; his vision blurry and every muscle feeble. Through the bewildering fog of his dwindling consciousness, he could make out bare feet of the girl stop next to Rain's head.

"but as an invitation..." Chaeomi said. Her voice was wavered and distorted as he laid his head against the

Before The Hydromancer blacked out, he was able to make out the final words she spoke to him…

"... to your fate _Son of Argus_..."

* * *

The lone gunslinger stared at the mound of charcoaled bodies, his eyes fixed on a particular spot on the pile. He endured the stench, solely out of respect, but finally reached his limitations and turned his back.

Erron adamantly tried to persuade himself that it was because of the smell and not because it was Bert's body burning along with all the anonymous that bothered him. He certainly didn't want to admit that standing at the pyre reminded him of what it was like to be at a funeral. He had only been to a few and despised them. He always felt choked by an unknown guilt he couldn't place the cause of.

Black hadn't mourned the dead since he arrived in Outworld. What was the point when folks dropped dead like flies on a daily basis? There was no reason to develop any attachments to someone that would be dead within a week. It was something he grew comfortable with— something he was content leaving back in Earthrealm.

He only attended funerals in Earthrealm; a land he wanted nothing to do with. His first funeral was his mother's.

_Send the departed your condolences by remembering the better times about 'em. No need to ponder on times so bitter._

Black could barely make out the memory. All he remembered was that it was night and only two people stood at her grave: Erron and at that moment, the man he refused to acknowledge as anyone other than a hated acquaintance, but would become so much more as the years passed.

They were the first words anyone had told him at a funeral and it was from someone he had mistakenly loathed. He couldn't remember how old he was when his mother passed; he never cared about keeping track and couldn't even remember the year he was born anymore.

All he knew that it was some time after all the bloody turmoil. He had only lived through one Civil War—Outworld's— and the only thing he knew about Earthrealm's was that they were still fighting even after the conclusion. All he remembered... was the wrath.

The same that had cost his mother's life and the man who killed her.

_"Am I to go away now? Now that momma is dead?"_ he had asked.

Despite that time had washed away the clarity of what he looked like, he still remembered the green eyes under the black brim hat that looked down at him with indescribable rage—one he did his best to hide with a stoic expression but failed. The way he scratched his black and salted beard before he gave him his answer.

_"No."_

Erron pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a hard shake of his head.

Why was he choosing to recall all of this? It's useless. What was in the past was irrelevant— so why was it sprouting up in his mind like a weed, now?

He felt his fist tightened; he knew exactly the reason.

The girl he didn't even know the name of.

There were so many things that she had unintentionally dug up. She had become an involuntarily grave robber and unearthed everything he had wanted to stay buried. Erron knew she wasn't intentionally trying to bring up his old business, but she had –as did Bert.

The day of the siege was the final stone that was knocked loose and sent every boulder of his old life tumbling down on him. He could no longer ignore it, even if he did hardly remember much. It was all there, slowly resurfacing and every attempt to put up the wall he spent decades building felt fruitless.

Erron knew what his first omen was— it was when he saw her get hit in the doorway.

It was an uncanny reflection of the night his mother died, the first blow the man that knocked on the door. She refused to let him in and he struck her in the same manner and sent her flying into the room while he cowered under her bed with the small pocket derringer she kept. She had given it to him when she knew she would need it more. That was when Erron knew she truly loved him and not the man he thought she did more.

The other omen, one he never even considered, was the knife; both the girl and his mother used one. The one she grabbed from her dresser before he backhanded her and sent her into the metal bedpost. Unlike the girl, she never did get to stab her attacker.

Black felt a flicker of disgust when he remembered himself crying under the bed, even though he knew he was a kid at the time and such weakness would be understandable to most people. A loaded pistol in his hands and all he could do was watch his mother being attacked.

He had been a coward. He could have saved her and didn't and always used his age as an excuse. He knew how to use a gun, his mother was his first teacher, but he was useless.

He strangled her in front of him, the only thing he could see where her feet thrashing as he sat on top of her with her hands around her throat. Even with the gun aimed at him, his hands trembling, he couldn't pull the trigger; he couldn't even aim as he cried like a welp underneath her bed.

_"Whore! Cunt! You left me for this? To spread legs for any Jayhawker lookin' to spend a bit!"_

Erron doubted she had heard any of it, but he did and it resonated as harshly now as it did then. His mother was none of those things despite her occupation. Black remembered him picking up the discarded knife, planting it inside her neck.

The gurgling was awful, but not as much as the silence that followed after her hands had thumped against the floorboards; the only sound he had to soak up was the haggard, angry, exhausted breathing of the man that sat on top of her looking down at her.

He spat at her corpse as he picked himself off her and it was only then he decided to do something. He crawled out from under the bed. He had not thought of the man since that night and regarded him as nothing but a monster—he wanted to kill him.

He was bulky and tall, his dark clothing was torn and tattered as his soul appeared in the blue eyes that stared at him with brief surprise before they flashed with relentless annoyance.

_"You gonna shoot me, you little shit?"_

Much toErron's dissatisfaction, when he recollected his opportunity to kill him, all he had managed to do was sob and lower the gun. The blonde haired man, whose hair was as wild as rouge wolf's, grabbed him by the front of his collared shirt and pulled the pistol inside of his belt and placed in into Erron's chest.

Yet another reminder of the girl and it disappointed him rather than settled the mystery that plagued him why he didn't shoot her that night. Erron finally understood why he had been so uncomfortable and had never gone through with it that night— why he thought it was wrong.

He had been in the same situation.

_"Are you even mine or the bastard of another man's fuck?"_

Back then, he didn't understand what he was talking about or how heavy the weight of his words were and the meaning they carried until after all of it. He had never met his father; he didn't even care that he had one. Mother had said that he never needed to meet him, anyway.

Unfortunately, Erron did and their first encounter involved his own father placing a gun on him.

He remembered the eyes mostly, and how every inch of his shook with rage. His eyes, however, there was a disturbing sorrow behind them; greeting him behind the curtain of rage. Erron wasn't sure if it was his tears that he saw or his father's.

_She took every possessin— includin' what I could of had... what I been needin'_

Erron had always found it how strange he went from charging into the room like a bull, destroying everything in his path, to something docile and pitiful as a whimpering dog.

He never did kill him, even though despite his sadness Erron could tell he really wanted to—they were interrupted.

He fled out the window and braved the second story drop. The other whores and the owner of the saloon found him over his mother's body, the people he thought of as family for some time.

He learned how to count from the bartender. How to swear from the other doves, the country's history from the man the owned the Livery that came in sometimes. However, as soon as his mother was gone, he was a burden they had to get rid of. Ship off on the first available stagecoach out.

Erron remembered even as they were talking about what to do, the doves crying over their madam, he still thought his mother looked beautiful even lying dead. She truly was. Blonde haired, blue eye version of some Greek deity herself.

_What was her name?_

He wasn't sure if it was fate, but the only driver in town happened to be the only man his mother had ever loved more than him. Actually, he hated him for it for the longest time and thought his mother lowly because of it.

The only reason he knew about them, despite his mother's lies that she was going to the tailor, was every time that damn coach pulled into town and unloaded passengers, she left. He followed her one night and found them in the midst of their session in the parked coach. The shades on the carriage were drawn, but he knew the sounds—he had heard them a million times from the other whores—and it was enough for Erron to understand what they were doing.

He had confronted him before he left for the trail the next day. Erron let a small smile creep onto his face at the memory. He had called him a _'cocksucker'_ and to _'stay away from his ma.'_

Abraham hadn't even batted an eye at him.

He didn't want to remember him, but he did. As much as Erron fought it, he could still see Abe's green eyes vividly in his mind. The same ones that always held a vast vault of tacit knowledge that always bothered Erron for as long as he knew him. They always knew something that he never shared, always calculating, always correct in all assumptions. Always studying. Always… _haunted._

_"Between me and your ma'— it ain't what you think and you be better off from preaching the vocabulary of the whores. Unless you want unpleasantness to come lookin' for you. "_ was all he had told him before he left that day.

The stupid, hot-headed kid thought he was putting him down, but truly he was just offering advice. Advice he abstained and ended up with a black eye when he muttered something along the same lines to Abraham. Erron couldn't remember who hit him, some saloon resident long dead by now.

Abraham didn't deserve what he called him, nor Erron's misplaced animosity for the simple crime of being the only man his mother loved truly.

Erron knew, Abraham had felt the same.

Even at that young age, Erron could see the darkness that had entered him at her death. Abraham was never more frightening than he was that night. His green eyes had darkened into coals that blazed with a muted promise of vengeance. He wanted nefarious and satisfactory revenge to quell the heat within him, even if it meant damning his own soul.

There was only one other person he could recall he had seen the same look from...

_"You are sorry? Do you want to know what the problem with your apology is? It is just not good enough!"_

He finally remembered it. His mother's name.

_Minerva._

" _Let's guarantee your pa' pays his condolences, as well."_

Erron understood and she was right. He of all people knew what a proper apology was and what it entailed. Both women earned it even though one only received it.

_"I never did get your name."_

_"And you never will."_

Turns out she was right all along. He never had.

_"Men— no— **things** like you are incapable of feeling anything like penance for your actions!"_

She was wrong about that.

He did.

Erron had become the thing he cowered under the bed from all those years ago. The thing he hunted down and thought he had destroyed. Erased with the promise of never becoming a mirror of his father. This was not what Abraham wanted of him.

_"Do you see what you are?! Nothing but an arrogant, ungrateful, son of a whore!"_

_"...you came into my life and destroyed EVERYTHING... I have NOTHING because of you and not ONCE were you ever **SORRY**!"_

He was and did all those things. He knew what all those things felt like. He had become the architect of someone else's misery—and he wasn't even are aware of her name nor would have the chance to make up for it. The simplest of human recommendations for knowing someone for so long, especially doing business with them at one point.

Because of him.

"Black!"

Erron smelled Reptile before he even approached him; he may have been trapped in his thoughts but still alert to the world around him. The Zatteran threw his head in the direction behind him.

"Ko'atal wishes to see us. We have much to discuss," was all he said. He turned on his heel with Black following behind him. Even with the distraction that was welcomed, he couldn't help but continue to dwell internally with his self-loathing.

" _Human. Are you anymore?"_

When was it when he truly stopped?

* * *

Norah wasn't quite sure what had been more uncomfortable: the hole in the abandoned building she slept in before coming to the palace, or the cell she was trapped in now. They both had unbearable qualities that were mirror images. The cell and the burrow were both hot and stole every breath. However in the hole, she had sand to lay on and the blunt bricks in her dungeon she slept on dug irritably into every curve. Also, she hadn't been stabbed.

Another similarity was the starvation. Norah hadn't eaten for two days now. The only reason she knew because the sensation was nothing new.

Though she was hurting, imprisoned and at the lowest she had felt emotionally, she was actually thankful for the reprieve. Only because it gave her permission to bury herself in her own loneliness in her cell without eyes to watch.

She had gotten so close to freedom and miserably failed. Norah hadn't kill the gunslinger, nor did she retrieve her contract from Tama.

For the longest time, she thought she actually believed she could be content with her situation despite the nefarious way she had be tricked into it. Carver, Bert, and Bao had been her anchors for her thoughts to stray into darker corners of how worthless she actually felt. No longer did she have that belief.

There was nothing good to make of her situation. No _silver lining,_ that Carver had mentioned. Any restoration that had been done to try and manipulate her into thinking that her current predicament could become the norm vanished.

She hated this place. This illusion of amenity living within the guarded palace walls; safe from nomads, disease, and starvation _—_ she would welcome all the macabre terrors if it meant her emancipation from her Hell.

Once she was released from this cell _—_ whenever Tama felt ready to— she would do everything possible to escape the palace. The threat of execution or not. She had not forgotten her promise and had tried desperately to save up enough money at the docks to buy passage to Sun Do until Erron Black prevented it. The threat of death looming over her head with Tama holding the executioners ax almost made her forgo it entirely; that it was a fantasy that she would never fulfill.

_Not anymore._

_I will leave no matter what. I will walk through the Kuatan Jungle. Do whatever is necessary— as I should have done earlier but was too frightened to._

Norah traced the outline of a brick on the floor; the stone scratching against her forefinger like coarse sand. She felt a pang of guilt for accepting the job at the docks to gain extra money, trying to be smart about getting to Sun Do. If she had known Erron Black would be coming after her, she would have ran without a moment's hesitation.

Her biggest mistake was allowing herself to become foolishly content with the palace. With the people around her and her dough to numb any ideas of running away. She had been stupid.

_Not anymore._

Now that she recalled each loaf she had made during her confinement, it only burrowed and ripped her apart inside even more like a malicious parasite. Her mother _—_ the woman she considered her real mother— she continued to make her wait for her and she knew with every fiber that she still was.

"It might be the rainy days, it might be the stars that I look at every day. Or the moments I sit in silence, alone, the times that I turn and look behind me. I still remember our days well, they're still clear in my heart. I can remember the same sound of your voice well, every word, and it'll never fade away."

Even after years away from Sun Do, when her father and mother forced her to move to this dreadful capitol, her mother was always in Sun Do; the same one that had told her that song.

_"When you are ready—and when you feel they will be ok on their own—you are always welcome to come back._ _Every day you are gone, I promise to always wait for you."_

"I will get out of here, " Norah whispered. "As soon as I can get out, I will get to Sun Do. I will not stall. I will not keep you waiting, Lành."

"Are you done talking to yourself, yet? Please do try and be considerate to others in adjoining cells around you," came a sardonic female voice from across the hall.

Norah lifted her head at the new voice, groaning slightly from the discomfort in her shoulder and looked towards the door. She hadn't even been aware that there was someone else. It had been so quiet since she had been here.

"I must say I thought you would have tried to interrogate me by now, instead of keeping up with your pitiful performance as a helpless despondent prisoner."

Norah's eyes narrowed and she rolled on her uninjured side with her back to the door. Whoever the other woman was, she honestly wanted nothing to do with her. Her sarcasm was offensive and perplexing.

"It's very heartfelt what you keep repeating to yourself. Is it a song? Cannot say I have heard it before nor wish to again," the female mocked.

Norah didn't answer, instead let out a heavy agitated exhale.

"What's the matter?" she came again, her tone annoyingly bitter. "You were talking so much before. You don't want to speak to me? Isn't that what you are here for anyway?"

Norah furrowed her eyebrows at the accusation; unsure what exactly her neighbor was referring to.

"You can inform Ko'atal that I will not negotiate Rain's location without something in return," she said, her words a snide dance in Norah' direction.

Norah immediately felt her blood boil at the mention of Rain's name _—_ the Edenian bastard. Her fist clenched as her upper lip flickered with hatred. Unfortunately, the mention of his name caught her attention which she knew was the obnoxious woman's intention.

"And what is it exactly that you want?" Norah snarled, her eyes flickered towards the door despite not rolling over to view it.

"My head still attached to my shoulders, mostly," she replied simply. "I doubt Ko'atal would be willing to let me go free even if I did let him know where Rain might hide. I'll make do with what I can get. Food would also be nice."

Norah rolled her eyes and choose not to comment. Instead, her mind tried to piece together what association the woman would have to Rain and why Kotal Kahn would have her imprisoned.

She scoffed when she reached her answer that it was no doubt an Edenian loyalist that had raided the palace. Considering her interaction with Edenians _—_ Hulin and the False Prince— she couldn't say that she wanted to have a discussion with her no matter how bad Norah's bouts of boredom became.

"Is that all you are going to ask me? I have to say this is by far the briefest interrogation I have ever experienced. You must be new at this," was her derisive remark.

"I am not here to interrogate you _,"_ Norah fired back, growing impatient.

"Then why else would you be here?" she challenged.

"My concern and not yours," Norah snapped.

"What did you do? Anything worth listening to?" she chided.

The side of Norah's mouth tugged up in agitation. This woman wouldn't stop. "No."

As much as she wanted to ignore her, the mention of Rain couldn't help but bring out her curiosity. "How is it that you know where Rain is?"

"I thought you were not here to interrogate me," she pointed out with a mocking tone.

"I am not," Norah agreed. She sucked in a shaky breath. "He murdered my friend. I want him dead."

He heard her chuckle slightly, "Something we can both agree that we have in common. Don't worry he'll die— but by my word only."

The dark, ominous statement caused Norah to actually turn her head over her shoulder slightly to face the door. "What did he do to you?"

There was a slight pause. "Let's just say that nobody betrays me. I suppose technically in a way he didn't. I actually expected this of him therefore if there is anyone who deserves the title, it is me."

"You sound abnormally proud to call yourself a traitor," Norah criticized with a flat tone.

"Why not? Everybody else does..."

Norah immediately frowned with extreme unease, the realization who was in the next cell was blatantly obvious without having to look through the prison door.

_Tanya._

"Of course you would work with him," Norah whispered to herself, disdain for the woman in the next cell dripping with each word.

"What was that?" Tanya asked. "Was it something rude? I'm pretty good at name calling as well, although I don't resort to it like a child."

Norah's eyes flashed with anger and she was about to retort until she heard the main door to the dungeon open; creaking harshly on the hinges. Norah sat up, using her better arm as a pillar as she twisted her body towards the door.

Her eyes squinted against the little light the torches on the wall provided and through the bars she could barely make out Hulin's face. Quietly, she rose to her feet and made her way over to the door; eavesdropping mainly out of slight interest what he wanted.

"I had heard rumors that it was you and Rain that attempted to kill Kotal Kahn," she heard Hulin deride through the heavy wooden door. "Any peddling impersonator of a soothsayer could have told you how it would have ended _—_ or just anyone in general."

Norah heard movement and slight grunt of pain before Tanya replied sourly but confidently: "Is your torture to talk to me to death because you are succeeding."

"Actually, he has granted me permission to use any method," Hulin stated with a deep and foreboding tone. "Do not be so quick to annoy me, Tanya, or it will go slower."

Tanya let out a mocking chortle of laughter at the palace torturer. "You will not touch me."

"Is that so?" Hulin questioned with blasé tone.

"If your knife so much as cuts a chunk of my hair, Ko'atal will have nothing," Tanya warned. Her voice bordering on arrogant and infuriated.

"Are you that willing to die for the one that betrayed you?" Hulin prodded with disbelief. "Are you two lovers?"

Tanya snorted with disgust. "Do not be absurd. Run and tell your Emperor that 'I would rather die satisfied knowing that Rain will continue to be a vexation or he can grant me what I want.' I would rather be loyal to a citizen of Edenia than let a false king win that does not honor my heritage—unless there was something he could provide me with in return."

"Since when did loyalty start to become such a persuasive trait to you?" Hulin huffed. "What is it you want the Emperor to grant you?"

Norah heard Tanya let out a thoughtful and playful sigh. "I am no fool. Tell Ko'atal I want leniency or he will never find Rain."

The baker heard Hulin let out a cynical laugh. "I will relay your message and know that I look forward to torturing you."

"When do you not look forward to torturing anyone?" the female Edenian derided. "I have to ask because I have always been curious to know if I'm right. Do you lay with them before or after they are dead? Mileena and I were always disagreeing about which one you did first."

Norah's eyes shifted at the statement as her mouth opened and closed with trepidation. She wasn't stupid; he knew exactly what Tanya meant by the question and whether it was true or not Norah swallowed back the bile the wanted to creep up her throat.

She flinched when she heard a heavy fist pound on the door; an angry and stern warning that earned a snicker out of Tanya. "Perhaps you will find out."

"I doubt it," Tanya bit back calmly. "Run along messenger boy and if it's not too much trouble, could I have something to eat and some better company to talk to? The one in the cell across from me is not so talkative."

The cup-bearer panicked when she heard footsteps come across to her cell. Immediately, she rose to her feet and backed away from the bars. She saw Hulin peer through the bars of the window's door. At first, he looked confused to see her there, but then smiled his counterfeit friendly smile at her.

"Norah. How did you ever get in a cell, my dear?" he asked.

She lifted her chin, her mouth pressed tightly in a show of false bravado as she felt her skin crawl under his gaze. "Tama and I had a disagreement."

"Oh? Of what kind?" he smirked lightly.

She gulped slightly but did her best not to falter. "I thought I should be free and she disagreed."

Norah looked at him warily, especially when he looked down at something in his hand and heard the jingling of metal against each other. Norah frowned heavily when the door opened and Hulin stepped through.

Trepidation and suspicion coursed through her with each step he took towards her. He glanced at her shoulder, tilting his head slightly like he was inspecting an object at a vendor's stall. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"You are injured. That will get infected the longer you stay in here," Hulin said to her, his words serious but his eyes glinting like a predator behind his innocent veil. He offered her his hand and Norah looked at it like a murderous fisherman's lure.

"I am sure Tama would not mind if I at least dressed your wound properly so you did not get sick."

Norah knew better than to trust anything that Tanya said; each word that sprung out of her mouth was a fabrication birthed from manipulation. However, the more Hulin looked at her, and the Pyromancer's words ran through her head, she had no choice but to believe that the traitor was telling the truth. She had always felt there was something wrong about the dungeon torturer, now she understood what he was.

A predator- and a disgusting one. There were many in Outworld and it was not hard to assume he was one of them.

"With all due respect, I will remain in my cell," Norah told him. Each word careful and toneless to not offend him. "Tama would be displeased if I left. She has seen my shoulder and I am sure she will not let her investment die in a cell."

Hulin's mouth tugged with indignation slightly, almost unnoticeable and revealing to Norah all she needed to confirm she was right about his intention. However, he lowered his hand and gave a smile with an indifferent sigh.

"If that is your wish," was all he said before he turned around and left. Locking the cell door with Norah's cautious eyes watching every move. She let out the breath she was holding in and wiped the hair sticking from her sweaty forehead. Her eyes happened to look through the bars briefly before she saw Tanya looking at her from behind her own set of bars; her wrists manacled in irons with the cuffs imbedded with a blue crystal that swirled likes ocean waves. She draped both of her wrists through the door in a lazy and pompous posture.

At least, Norah did not look as badly injured as she was. Her face was an assortment of different colored bruises that blended together and made it almost impossible to decipher what color they were in the low lighting.

Her dark raven hair was as mangled and caked in blood as Norah's was and she saw the corner of her mouth tug up in a smug understanding smile.

"You can learn a lot by eavesdropping," she commented. "Especially that there are worst things then being a traitor."

Norah flashed her with an neutral expression, but both women knew that she absorbed the truthfulness of Tanya's words.

Tanya turned away from the bar, her face twitching with slight discomfort as she watched her hobble up and down; her leg possibly injured. Her amber eyes gave Norah one last belittling look before she said: "By the way, nice necklace."


	17. Chapter 17

**C** **hapter 17**

**Voodoo**

* * *

By the look on Kotal Kahn's face alone, Erron wondered why he hadn't risen from his chair and stormed out of the throne room towards the dungeons. The Emperor wasn't the only one livid by what Hulin had relayed to him. The gunslinger could barely make out the low growl that came from Reptile who stood on the other side of Kotal's throne; his lip curled over his sharp teeth. Ermac, who was usually stoic, also wore a frown of distemper that equaled the Osh-tekk's. Ferra crossed her arms over her chest and huffed angrily by Erron's side, both of them flanking the other end of Kotal's chair. The gunslinger himself also irked by Tanya's crowing boldness.

She was toying with them and Kotal Kahn wasn't in the mood for games. Erron knew that the Osh-Tekk wasn't going to settle for half— despite how clever Tanya thought she was. He wanted Rain to be executed alongside Tanya in the Courtyard—for all the capital to see. The two Edenians and their Tarkatan accomplices had caused quite the surplus of destruction. The citizens of Z'unkahrah wanted their heads on a pike as much as the Kahn and his guards did.

Leniency never even flashed through the Emperor's mind until Hulin informed them that she would trade it for the Hydromancer's location. There was mutual doubt between the guards and Kotal that Tanya had even the slightest inclination to where Rain might be. Yet, at this point she might as well be their cartographer; she would know more about him then they did.

Black turned his head and saw Kotal's knuckles beginning to turn white. After a moment, he flexed his hand and laid his palm flat on the armrest of the throne. Obviously, he was furious over Tanya's proposal, even though he tried to hide it under a callous but detached expression.

"Are you confident that she will not provide Rain's location?" the Kahn questioned the palace torturer.

The mercenary's eyes slid over the Edenian and narrowed at him. Erron could never put his finger on it, but there was something that he did not like about him. He inflicted torture daily and it was understandable there would be some screw loose within the dark cogs that worked his mind. It was different, though. He could see it and funny enough, it reminded him of someone he knew from a long time ago.

_"You plucked a life when you were only a youth?"_

Black shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. The man who he knew only as Clemmons (he knew that wasn't his real name now). He was the one that offered to show him how to twirl like a true pistoler. Though he wasn't sure why he had the intention to help, it looked as if he was disturbingly jealous.

_"I was but 15 when I grabbed my first. Must say you leave me feeling sour."_

He heard Abraham's response to when he told him what Clemmons offered.

_"Keep a patch of Earth between you and Clemmons. He's the same as a snake oil salesman with even worse a bite. You wanna learn how to spin your irons, go pry to Bill or Mike."_

_"Bill has taken a likin' to him,"_ his idiotic 12-year-old self-had debated.

_"He spun his cannons at Bill before he could dig his out. Don't be a fool because Bill ain't being one. Ole Muskrat has his eyes on that rattlesnake even if he has to give him a ride across the river every now and then."_

Abraham had never trusted the young dark-haired cowboy just barely exiting adolescence, seemingly in town to spend his earnings on whores, drinking and gambling like the others in Abilene, Kansas. Abraham was right to have his wariness about him. Granted, he had seen his share of deplorable characters even as a youth, he understood that there were some men that even that Lucifer would send back.

Erron could see that same murky black maliciousness within the Edenian's eyes. There was a perverse temptation, shadowed underneath the masquerade of politeness that concealed how much of a barbarian he really was. He was a sadist, but that was expected from him, considering the career that he practiced. However, there was too much devilish enthusiasm. Needless to say, it was obvious he enjoyed his occupation far too much, just like Clemmons had.

"I could _persuade_ Tanya, but only granted with your approval, my Emperor," Hulin suggested.

Kotal Kahn looked at him with distrust and almost a flicker of disgust in his face. It was obvious that Kotal never liked him, and he was a necessity but one that was walking on a thin patch of ice. He had been in the palace since Mileena had been Kahnum, and Black could tell Kotal wasn't sure keeping him despite swearing his allegiance was the best idea.

He pondered on the idea for a moment like a poker player trying to call a bluff. It was a 50/50 question in the simplest form: Who did Tanya hate more? Kotal Kahn or Rain?

Hulin was declined, and the mercenary could swear he saw the briefest of a defiant and enraged flare in his eyes; even though his face was as still as stone.

Hulin gave a simple nod when the Kahn dismissed him with a wave. As soon as the door to the throne room closed, Kotal tapped his fingers against the armrest in thought, a glower dominant on his face.

"Erron Black. Syzoth," he called.

Immediately both guards stepped forward from their respected spots on the side of Kotal's throne and stood in front. "I want you to proceed to the Kuatan Jungle and resume the old trail. If you do not find him there, continue to the other known locations we know he has been to."

The corner of Erron's lip pulled up in a skeptical manner that didn't go unnoticed by the Kahn. "Something troubles you?"

"With all due respect," the gunslinger began. "Would he backtrack to where he knows _we_ know he's already been? It ain't a move I would do."

"I will not negotiate leniency with Tanya. She will face justice as will her co-conspirator," Kotal bit with a strident tone. "Rain is injured. I suspect he would fall blindly into such a mistake."

Black wasn't ignorant to Kotal's limited options. He believed Tanya's declaration that she would not provide Rain's location if subjugated to torture but would willing to comply if given a pardon— something Kotal was not willing to grant.

He was trying to find a loophole that Erron and Reptile knew was probably going to end up being a waste of time. Black already made his objection to the matter and decided not to continue any further. Opting for shutting his mouth before he angered Kotal more than he already was. They both agreed to the assignment, and the Kahn moved on to the other matter plaguing him.

"Has there been any information on how the Tarkatans were able to get inside the palace walls?" the Kahn questioned.

"The wall of the escape tunnel has been breached," Ermac provided. Kotal Kahn mused over the explanation, but from what Erron could tell, he did not seem surprised by the answer.

"Destroy it," he ordered. "I do not want it to be used against us a second time."

"Do you wish construction of another?" Ermac asked.

Kotal shook his head. Black had to admire his courage to gamble with his life; it was the reason the escape tunnel existed in the first place. Kotal Kahn was no coward, though, would rather turn the palace into an Alamo, than have a weakness exploited to catch them off guard. He would fight his way out if he needed to.

He couldn't blame the decision, especially after hearing the casualties within the walls and outside. The already diminished forces of his legion were even less after the attack on the palace; thanks yet again to rebels. Kotal's goal was to strengthen Outworld's defenses after the Civil War and the scare of Shinnok being released once again. Now that target seemed to be even further out of range.

The only benefit was the slave force hadn't been as heavily hit in the palace despite their inexperience with hand to hand combat. Instead, most of them chose to hide while the battle went on then defend a castle they had no love for. They would be punished for their gutlessness with double the work by repairing the city on top of their duties with the palace.

The prisoners that escaped were being executed in the Courtyard as they spoke. The price for their depravity came at the cost of their executions proceeding ahead of schedule.

There was more talk about what needed to be repaired; what was the highest priority and what they manpower they needed to take care of the tasks. It was boring, and Erron found himself drifting out of the conversation. He glanced over at Ferra, who shuffled her feet in boredom and yawned. Again, he found himself unwillingly drifting back to thoughts about 'Bread Lady.'

Curious, he wondered if she happened to escape the palace after their stand-off in his room. He hadn't seen any sign of her, nor heard anything about any of the servants escaping in the discussion. The sound of the gun's hammer clicking back rang through his memory like the chime of a clock. If she was that determined to kill him, he figured she was just as committed to getting out.

He would never see her again, and it was probably the best thing for her. It certainly did nothing to help ease the unsettling waves of guilt the sloshed back and forth inside of him. Black had no more fight inside to keep them away. He was at fault, and there would never be a way to reconstruct his ego after what he knew he did.

Erron was responsible for her destitute. He had pushed and crippled her previous identity, one that he realized hadn't deserved the animosity. He knew the feeling— it was how he ended up in Outworld. The realm was such a perfect place to hide and store broken things. Then again, so was Earthrealm when he used to live there.

Kansas. Took him forever to remember the place where he lost his mother, and the territory he tracked with Abraham trying to find his father. That was when he first saw the good character of a man leave and interchanged with a doppelganger; a false, despondent replacement for what someone used to be. He came to the conclusion that he had seen this same thing happen to four people he knew.

The first was Abraham. The other was Bill when he shot his best friend. His downfall was as rapid as a landslide; word was he never was able to pull himself free of the manacles of the anguish for his mistake. The third was her and it almost felt like a reflection in a mirror of the fourth. _The fourth…_

He shook the thoughts from his head, blinking back the unpleasant memories of Earthrealm and his lamentable action that brought him here. He refused to sink into the tar of his grief for that mistake. It was done and he was here. His tribulations were in the past, and he didn't need to bring them up. He moved on; kept trekking through the harsh desert that was his life as he had always done. He hadn't made a habit of looking back since it was useless and didn't want to start now even if he did feel liable.

He wasn't the heartless creature she claimed him to be. Hardened a better word perhaps, and certainly not someone who had time to feel remorseful every goddamn minute of the day. Still, her allegation of what she claimed sat like a bitter aftertaste.

It wasn't like before when his ego demanded that he had the last word in their altercations. It was the simple realization that he needed to have the last laugh no matter how despicable his action was. She was right and, in the end, they were both losers because they had managed to corrupt each other. She referred to him as a thing; an unapologetic, heartless thing. Almost as if it was a challenge—at least, he preferred to look at it that way.

_When did he stop being human?_

The question to himself was like offering his hand to a rattlesnake to bite him. He was inviting those damn truths he forgotten, and he knew the moment he allowed them in, they would take root like a poison like they did then.

Did he truly want to risk what he worked hard to forget, just so he could have a reprieve of the remorse he felt over someone he didn't even know the name of?

_It isn't for her. It shouldn't be for her. Especially since you don't know who 'her' is._

_"Who does she remind you of?"_

_Nobody old man. Nobody..._

Why did that sound like a lie?

The meeting was dismissed, and he only realized it when he felt the Zaterran's hand nudge him in the shoulder. He gave a nod towards the Emperor, following the rest of the guards as they walked out of the chamber one by one.

The gunslinger was about to turn in the direction of his still uprooted room when he felt someone tug at the end of his poncho. His blue eyes greeted Ferra's red ones and she gave a forceful nod towards him.

"You see Bread Lady?" she inquired with a demanding tone. "Torr want sweet bread!"

That was the second time Ferra reminded him of her, and he tugged harshly at his poncho; ripping it from Ferra's grasp. The symbiote seemed unaffected by his action, and he turned his back. "She's gone, Ferra. Forget her and leave it to die."

He stormed ahead but could sense the silent disappointment from Ferra even though he couldn't see it. Ferra was too simple-minded to notice. However, that statement was a double-sided coin; he was referring to two things and answering it the same. Something personal that was trying to rear it's ugly head in the vision of a pretty face. A face he had spent decades trying to scrub from the canvas in the gallery of paintings of his acquaintances hanging in his mind. It was deformed, but he could still see green eyes.

_"Who does she remind you of?"_

There were two women in his forgotten, Earthrealm life that she did, and he rather not compare her to either.

He flexed his hand, moving the joints before he balled it into a fist.

Erron Black could feel the teeth of the rattler graze the flesh of his palm, but he was faster to pull his hand out of reach.

* * *

Bao stormed out of his mother's room, his heated scoff the only answer his mother would receive from her request; but they know he would do it regardless. Not only had they just discovered that Bert was dead, but Norah had been imprisoned. There was a pang of pride when his mother had told him that Norah had demanded her contract from his mother. She was brave and knew that the Baker had it in her somewhere, but what made him frown was his mother's stab wound.

That was worrisome. Not because he feared for Norah's mental well-being or that his mother was injured (she deserved it) but because Norah was unaware of the deplorable nature his mother was capable of. She enjoyed being the manipulator and anyone that challenged her authority paid severe consequences— he knew that lesson all too well. Imprisonment without food was nothing compared to what she could prepare for Norah if she truly crossed her.

He waited for Hulin, his escort according to his mother's words. Bao was somewhat surprised that the torturer had volunteered instead of his mother using one of the guards in her pocket to make sure Bao did not say anything suspicious.

It unnerved Bao and it only caused him to be more on guard. Especially when he finally arrived and hovered at the kitchen door while Bao placed the closed canisters of water in the cloth bag. Hulin had no objection and instead gave a small smirk when Bao looked him in the eye and did it.

He folded the bandages and turned his gaze away even though he felt Hulin's dark eyes upon him.

Bao never liked Hulin even before he had become a cup-bearer. He had heard the rumors of his perversions and Bao felt trepidation for his friend in the cell. The cells were Hulin's hunting ground and his sudden interest in Norah's cell was alarming. He didn't object to Bao sneaking in the water and bread that he saw, and it only caused him to feel more concerned about her.

Hulin was not a fan of skin and bones.

He wasn't sure what the narcissist looked to accomplish. He knew well enough he could not touch Norah just as Tama couldn't kill her. She was valuable to Tama and Hulin wasn't brash enough to anger his estranged friend.

Bao looked at him once more and frowned.

_At least, I hope not._

Abigail walked into the room and flinched away when she saw Hulin standing in the kitchen. The older woman didn't make eye contact, and it saddened Bao to see the look of utmost horror flash on her face.

Abigail had every reason to. Hulin was the one that cut her tongue out.

She approached Bao and handed over a familiar object he had seen Norah with in the kitchen.

Carver's book.

He wasn't even aware that Norah had given it to Abigail to borrow and without Carver in the room to confirm, it was the only assumption he could make. Without even making eye contact with Bao, she placed the book inside the gray cloth sack.

He reached in to remove the book but felt her grab his wrist and looked him sternly in the eyes. Bao understood the look completely as if she was shouting it at him.

_You **will** give her the book._

He minutely shook his head at her. _No, Abigail. Tama will hurt you._

Her eyes softened, glistening with desperate affinity. There was a reason Abigail wanted to give Norah the book and he was aware both understood the Earthrealm language. Her weathered hands gave him a tender squeeze and Bao could not agree with her wishes.

Abigail was trying to get herself killed, and he could not support it.

The cup-bearer's eyebrows shot up in alarm when Hulin approached. She shuffled away as he snatched the book.

"A gift?" he asked, his attention directly on Abigail as if she were an odious animal.

He flipped through the pages, using his thumb to fly over them. He scoured for anything that would seem odd, despite not knowing the language. He stopped at one page in particular in the middle of the book.

He flipped it around and turned the book upside down. With a finger, he tapped on the scribbling at the top of the page.

"Passing along messages, Abigail?" he accused. He shook his head and clicked his tongue at her as if she were a disobedient child.

Bao stepped in front of Abigail, blocking Hulin's unpleasant and amused disposition he used to belittle the older woman with. "It is Carver's handwriting. He writes in his book sometimes. Look over the other pages and see for yourself."

Hulin glowered at Tama's son but did as proposed. It was true; Carver did write in the book; he had seen it himself. Abigail had written something in the book; Bao knew it was the only reason she was so adamant about him giving it to Norah. He tried not to betray himself in front of the Edenian, but he could feel his heart tearing in two even as Abigail held his wrist, stroking her thumb along his skin in comfort.

How could she do this? He liked Norah as well, but how could Abigail be so selfish. She knew Tama would find out about whatever message she concealed in the book, and Bao knew what she had written without having to be told.

Despite how doleful and furious he was with Abigail, he had to admire her bravery. The quality that had been snuffed out by his mother for so many years resurfaced for the first time in decades. His mother had tortured Abigail since the day her tongue was removed, and Bao had to watch over the years as the woman's confidence sank into depression. For the last couple of years, Bao had thought the strong, gutsy girl he knew had been lost forever. He felt remorse for thinking so little of her.

Why now?

Bao exchanged a look with Abigail as Hulin kept his attention on the book. She returned his crestfallen expression before her hand left his wrist and cupped his cheek.

_Why?_ he beseeched silently, blinking back the tears threating to spill over the rim of his eyes. Abigail understood his mournful silent probe and removed her hand and placed it on her chest.

She closed her eyes, shook her head and patted her chest. Hulin's eyes danced briefly over at them before fixing back on the book.

Bao closed his eyes in dismay and after a long sigh nodded his head in bitter agreement.

_I do not want her to become me._

"I do not see a problem, although I will have to inform your mother of this," Hulin grinned as he held up the book. Abigail noticeably shivered but composed herself and exhaled. Terror was still present on her face and on Bao's as well, but he nodded at Hulin.

"Yes, I am _sure_ you will tell my mother," Bao fumed with a dead tone. Hulin blinked his eyes with an unimpressed disposition at his barb.

"Let us see dear Norah, then," the Edenian prompted as he handed the book back to Bao. He snatched it unkindly from Hulin and stuffed it in the bag, flashing the man with a disgusted snarl.

Hulin led them out of the kitchen and Bao looked back at Abigail, who bowed her head, trying to reassure him.

He felt nothing but unrelenting anguish as he rubbed his thumb over the jade ring on his finger.

* * *

In her cell, uncertain of the number of days, Norah held her forehead in her palms and rested her elbows on her crooked knees. She knew that Tama wouldn't let her starve to death. Still, the dry leather piece of meat inside her mouth hoped Tama hadn't forgotten that she could die sooner from thirst.

She wasn't alone in her cell; she had voices coming from her growling stomach, the blinding headache and the cry for water that added more troublesome pain to her complaining body.

It did not help that Tanya was humming cheerily to herself across the hall. Her leg must have gotten better because every so often she would hear her heels click against the stone. Sometimes she would hear her grunt and hiss in pain. Her injuries were still present, but for the most part, Tanya was healing quicker than Norah was.

An Edenian gift that she wished she had to rid herself of the throbbing ache coming from her shoulder. Edenians typically healed faster than most Outworlders, which also contributed to their long lives. Even with the cobalt cuffs — used mostly to suppress her pyromancy— she could already see the bruises fading on her otherwise flawless and smug face.

Tanya quit humming the same moment that Norah's eyes locked on her cell door when she heard the door to the dungeon open.

She was almost pleased to see who walked through the door of her cell until she saw who was accompanying him. Her face fell into a stoic disposition when she saw the sight of Hulin at the door. Her eyes never left him even as Bao came over with supplies towards her. He kneeled next to her and tried to grab her attention from where she sat with a weak and brief smile.

A small show of wickedness journeyed its way across Hulin's face in the form of a friendly smile. Their eyes, unfortunately, gave them _both_ away. Despite that she returned the smile, she betrayed herself by showing fear towards him. Norah was only aware that she gave herself away was when she saw the acidic look in his eyes. Almost as if displeased that his attempt to convey friendship fell flat… and that she still believed Tanya's words so firmly.

"Finish quickly," was all that he remarked, directed at Bao before he closed the door behind him.

Even though the door swung softly on its hinges, she still jumped slightly as soon as it closed. She could still see the back of his head through the bars on the window. He was listening even though his eyes were elsewhere.

"By the Gods, Norah. What did you do?" Bao asked, his voice heavy with concern and dread, and she could sense that he wasn't referring to her dirty state. He unraveled the cloth sack he carried, but her eyes remained fixed on the back of Hulin's head.

The baker didn't answer Bao's question not because she didn't care, she was simply too exhausted, livid, thirsty and hungry to give her strength away to answer him. A cup came into eye view. He unscrewed the lid and presented it to her, and Norah looked down to see a welcomed sight.

Water.

She immediately snatched it from his hands and greedily sucked it down. It wasn't much, but it was enough to coat the dryness in her mouth. Bao also lifted a small biscuit and handed it to her. It was hard and stale, but it was the last thing on her mind. Crumbs spilled over her and sank into her V-neck blouse as she chewed it apart like a ravenous animal.

Bao didn't say anything, and she slowed when she noticed the other cup of water and the bandages. Norah chewed slowly and gave her friend a mistrustful look. She placed the other half of the biscuit on the ground and stared intently at him.

"Did you come here to feed me or because Tama does not want my shoulder to scar?" she accusingly spat at him. Her eyes as sharp as needles. They poked holes into him when she said that, and she saw him wince. It was how she knew it was the latter.

"You did not answer my question," he pointed out, almost as if it was a shot right back at her. It was a weak retort, and she did not feel it sting at all.

Bao's brown eyes looked at her sadly, and hesitantly, he waited for permission to touch her which she granted with a simple nod. Timidly, he dipped the cloth in the water and started to clean her wound with the same fearful effort. It stung, and she hissed in pain; the water was laced with something that made it burn more than it should.

Norah stared at him for the longest time with a stony expression she could see him cowering under. There was a tension in the air that swirled around Bao as tight as a drum. It didn't take Norah long to understand another opinion about her had seeped its way into Bao's perspective of her. Most likely told from his mother; someone he claimed he didn't trust. Ironically, almost in the same manner she felt towards Hulin.

As soon as the wound was cleaned, he began to cover it with the bandage; delicately wrapping it up and under her shoulder and arm pit.

"I am worried about you," he admitted with a dejected sigh. "I fear what my mother will do. You should not have attacked her."

"What does she want with me?" Norah questioned bluntly.

Bao stiffened at the question, and it was all that Norah needed to understand that he _might_ know, but would not relate it to her. Any clue would have been valuable, but he purposely withheld it. She stared at him with heated suspicion not usually reserved for someone she considered a friend.

"I have my theories, but I hope they are wrong. Tell me, Bao. Please," she implored.

Bao looked at her with the utmost heartbroken sympathy and Norah immediately felt her eyes narrow at the look. She was begging him, and he could only stare at her like a beaten animal that he selfishly walked by without aid.

"I…I can not. I can not tell you," Bao confessed.

"Why?! Why are you so afraid of her?" Norah shouted. She couldn't help it. His cowardice frustrated her, and she was exasperated with the truth being kept and tired of the games: the debt bond and all the effort to get her here. The Marking and why she needed to be a part of it. The looks of animosity she saw in the evil woman's eyes when she looked at her. She was mentally fatigued of trying to answer the riddle, even more so since she had been sent to the dungeon. Why did the woman want her?!

"My mother… she is a monster…I know that…" Bao confessed. "You must understand I did not know what she was capable of until…" He faltered, sucking in a frightful breath. Looking as if he recalled some unpleasant memory. "She has taken much from me as well, Norah. I cannot risk her taking the thing I have left. I…I am sorry."

Norah glared ruthlessly at him and shook her head. She felt air escape in heated puffs out her nose as her chest rose and fell with each failed attempt to stall her anger. It exploded, and she felt her good hand strike his face with a piercing slap.

He hung his head in sadness as his cheek turned crimson from her handprint. He knew that slap was enough information for him to know that their friendship was severed.

She turned her face away from him; the sight of him sickened her. "Thank you for the water and food, now get out. Tell your monster I will be her slave no more. I would rather starve than spend another day under her servitude as her baker."

In the corner of her eye she saw Hulin dip his head towards them; obviously interested in what she said. She scowled in his direction.

Bao let out a shaky sigh. "Norah…"

"Leave, Bao!"

For a moment, he looked as if she had struck him a second time, and Norah considered it until he gathered up his things and walked away from her.

He stopped before he reached the door and with a disheartened sigh, he fished inside the sack and pulled out another item. Firmly, he grabbed her wrist and shoved Carver's book in her hand.

" _This_ is from _Abigail_ ," Bao told her with a direct and piercing tone. "I _hope_ it can be _useful_ while you are in here."

Norah gave him a perplexed look but accepted it, especially when he nudged it harder at her. His eyes keenly bore into hers, as if they were screaming at her to accept the book. It was a frightful and determined stare. It reminded her of his advice before her first day as a cup-bearer.

Despite the rejection she just gave him, she took the book and settled it on her lap as he left. Despite the present, she still angrily watched as he left her cell defeated. Hulin opened the door for him and smiled at how dispirited he seemed as he left. The Edenian glanced over at her for a moment, gave a polite bow of his head and locked the door behind him.

"That went _well_ ," derided Tanya in the other cell. "A lover's quarrel?"

Norah growled and curled her knees to her chest. "It is none of your concern."

"I'm fully aware it isn't, but it gets rather boring in here. You are the only entertainment I have," the pyromancer sighed.

Norah ignored her and picked up the round biscuit discarded off to the side. In truth, the gift giver made it look even more unappetizing, but her hunger silenced her stubbornness. She opened her mouth to take a bite before she was interrupted.

"I thought you would rather starve?" Tanya reminded. "At least, you sounded passionate about it. If not, I would not mind the other half."

Norah let out a sigh heavy with annoyance. She glanced down at the half-eaten piece of bread and then at the bars of her cell in Tanya's direction. In truth, she would rather see the Edenian die of hunger rather than herself. However, after a moment of considering that she had something Tanya wanted, perhaps she could get her answers another way.

She stood to her feet and shambled her way towards the cell door with the bread in hand. For some reason, it did not surprise her that Tanya was already waiting for her. The female Edenian tilted her head at her with a smirk decorated on her face that caused Norah to want to vomit. She felt like a puppet.

"What do you know about Tama?" Norah asked. Honestly, she did not expect Tanya to know who that was, but it was worth the attempt while she still had leverage.

Tanya rolled her eyes at her. "Who?"

She was right, and Norah took a bite into the biscuit in plain view. Tanya pursed her lips in irritation at her display. "Do you really think I know _everyone's_ dirty little secrets?"

"You know Hulin's," she argued. "Is what you said true? What else should I be concerned of with him?"

"I'll tell you for the price of a slice of bread," Tanya cooed, her yellow and blue bruised face pulling into a persuasive grin.

Norah knew that she would most likely refrain from telling her anything; that it was just a ploy to get the bread. However, Norah was also aware that Tama wouldn't let her starve to death in the cell. She meant to punish her not kill her. Tama still had some motive for forcing her into slavery. It was the only reason she reached through the bars with the half-eaten bread in her hand.

Tanya's brown eyes gleamed with a pompous victory as she copied Norah and reached her manacled hands through the bars. With a hand outstretched and the chains of the irons clinking against the bars, Norah tossed it in her direction that Tanya caught easily.

The irons scraped against the wood of the door; the sound harsh on her ears. Norah watched her toss the bread in the air, catch it and take a bite as if it were a piece of fruit. She gave a small chuckle as she chewed.

"My advice to you, little mouse," Tanya began with a priggish beam. "If you can take advantage of someone. Do it."

"I expected it from you. It will be the last of my scraps you receive," Norah retorted back with a blasé tone.

Tanya quirked an eyebrow in her direction. "The little mouse has a little bit of bite after all. I just figured you were just accustomed with being used by _everyone_."

The Edenian's words made her bristle with enmity. She grabbed the bars of her cell; her knuckles turning white as she seethed through her teeth: "I have _never_ been _used_ to it."

Tanya took another bite of the bread. "Then why do you let them? It is rather pitiful that you allow it despite how you say you hate it so much. Are you masochistic about it? Perhaps you _like_ the attention of playing the victim."

Norah grounded her teeth and felt pain in her shoulder as she held the bars tighter. Wishing that the metal bars were Tanya's throat she was squeezing. "You do not know anything about my _situation_."

"I know that you are a cup-bearer for Kotal Kahn and his guards," Tanya smirked. "That is how you know Hulin. You shouldn't have used your branded hand to toss me the bread."

The Traitor nodded towards her hand, and Norah pulled it away; hiding the brand with the shield of the door. The Edenian continued, rolling the bread playfully in her hands as she continued. Her eyes on the loaf but a grin spreading on her face.

"I also gather that you are a slave for your employer Tama, which is why you asked me about her first. I take it she is a bigot towards your kind? Do not worry. I do not find your presence as appalling as she does although I am not an admirer of Earthrealmers, myself."

Norah bit the bottom of her lip; a flourish of angry defeat coursing through her veins. Was Tanya going to listen to all of her conversations?

"You told Hulin that you demanded your freedom from her, which could only mean that you _allowed_ yourself to become a _slave_ in the first place. Most slaves wouldn't have the idiocy to confront their masters unless you wish to be beheaded. You are at least smart enough to take advantage of the fact that despite her resentment towards your kind, there is something she wants and you know it."

Tanya flashed her with a knowing smile. "You already know what she wants from you, _don't you,_ little mouse? I can see it eating at you all over your _pretty_ , little Earthrealm face."

The cup-bearer stared at Tanya. Even without giving her answer, Tanya could confirm that she was right. She was right about every bit she had said. It was strange to hear this observation from another source - especially one that she did not trust. It called to her like a song, leading her to her doom. There was no way to prove Tanya wrong. It aggravated her that she had been correct. Every word she spoke was the truth, and Norah had to disgracefully agree with the Edenian traitor.

"You are ashamed that you enslaved yourself by your poor decisions," She gave a small shrug. "You should be."

"I hope you choke on that bread," Norah venomously whispered. Her lips quivering in rage.

She hadn't tried for Tanya to hear it, but she did and looked at her with a blank expression. "Acting a little childish, aren't we? I must have stabbed too close?"

"You know nothing about me," Norah objected with a firm shake of her head.

Tanya finished eating the bread and one by one, sucked her fingers clean loudly. Each time she did was like a hammer nailing in more irritation through the Baker; it was purposeful and annoying. Her irons clanked together as she rested her chin in her palm and tilted her head

The Edenian _'tsked'_ at her, stroked her chin and stated: "I know that you will lose."

"Just as you have?" Norah shot back quickly.

Tanya let out a small, haughty laugh. "You are not a failure until you are dead. Setbacks are always temporary. You just have to be smart and trample who is in your way. It will get easier don't worry. Soon, it won't even cross your mind."

"To what? To be friendless and despised?" Norah scolded.

She sighed, almost as if she had told her a phrase that she had heard many times and had worn out its power long ago. She looked at her nails, examining them before shrugging at Norah. "I am loyal to myself. That is why you allow yourself to be used. You have yet to make the _right_ decision."

"And what is the _right_ decision?" The Outworlder challenged.

During their entire conversation, Tanya never seemed to falter or let her know that she was ever offended by anything she said. Nothing appeared to sway her. Norah couldn't help but feel like a failure and yet devoted to prove her wrong. She didn't want to fall victim to her apostate philosophy, that it was best just to ignore her altogether. Yet, she was still interested in what Tanya's answer would be. Tanya knew that as well.

"To be indifferent," she informed her. "If you can be, you might be able to burrow your way out of the trap you walked willingly into— and do not pretend you don't know what I'm referring to."

She did; there was no way to refute it. Norah wasn't blind to the possibility that her contract could be sold to someone _willing_ to buy it. The bit in the contract hadn't escaped her notice, and it was the paragraph that made her feel the greatest anxiety.

_If indebted is engaged to wed during their time of service…indebted's husband or wife may choose to buy contract…_

Her thoughts went to the unimpressive, but somber omen she should have paid closer attention to.

Méh-è.

Tama sold her contract to a man that impregnated her. Her betrothed. Norah still remembered how angry she was at Méh-è for becoming pregnant in the first place. It was a mistake, and Norah remembered how harshly she punished the girl for her blunder.

Méh-è was naïve, and the Baker could have seen her pregnant at a young age. She would have been enchanted out of her maidenhood by the right persuasive words — in Tama's servitude or not. Perhaps… that was what happened and that was the appeal of having her. The girl had no other skills it seemed from the chatter Norah had heard. Méh-è just escalated Tama's intention for her, and Norah doubted the ex-slave girl had any idea that she did.

"Has a man coated his... _virility_ in your blood yet? "

Norah's eyes hardened at Tanya; turning into ice at her smug, knowing expression. "That is no concern to you!" Norah hissed at her.

"No, you're right. It's not," Tanya said with a contemptuous wave of her hand, "but it should be yours. I heard exotic whores are worth more if they haven't been spoiled first."

Tanya laughed as her eyes gazed at her. "Your Tama is going to make quite the profit from your virginity. You're really not that ugly for an Earthrealm prostitute."

Norah's hands gripped the bars tighter but felt her rebuttal die in her mouth; the only thing escaping was an angry grunt. She managed to blink back the tears that had started to form. Giving Tanya one last irate stare, she stormed away from the door and turned her back to her fellow cellmate. She heard a small arrogant chuckle behind her before she heard her heels click; doing the same as Norah.

For the longest time, all she had was a weak speculation of what Tama had wanted from her and never arrived at it until after the Marking. She was the only one without a finger missing, even her own son underwent it, and she always wondered why.

The gift of the bracelet, something valuable to cover the brand stamped on her wrist. It wasn't a gift or a subtle remark of malice— it was so she could hide it. The desire to have her in such a position was also unusual. Why was Tama so adamant about it? Perhaps it was something she had planned for the future that Norah hadn't stumbled upon yet.

The attention drawn to her shoulder and why Bao had come into the attend to it. She was angered that her employee had been stabbed, not because she was concerned about her welfare, but because the scar that would be unsightly to a critical eye. She was worth less if she looked damage.

Tanya's agreement about it only made it worse, because not only did she agree with the Pyromancer, but she had deciphered her employer's real motivations so plainly. It was an affirmation, and no longer just a horrifying conjecture conceived just by Norah's pessimism. Bao's reluctance and secrecy was also more evidence. He wasn't protecting his mother, he was protecting whatever his treasured assist was. Tama wanted the truth concealed from Norah as she did with Méh-è and how many other girls succumbed to Tama's tricks.

Abigail… Bert…Carver…Bao...

They must of all known as well. They must have!

They could have warned her but they also must have been under repression. This could have been avoided if someone had just cared enough. Just one person to have confided!

None of them had.

She felt a painful swelling inside of her chest, feeling as if it was threatening to burst. It was painful and it caused another tear to roll down her cheek and a strained gasp to escape. She felt sick but most of all, she felt completely and utterly betrayed.

She swore she heard the bones in her jaw crack. She wouldn't have been surprised. The pressure she felt was enough to break bone from how hard she pressed her teeth down on each other. She was unbelievably furious and frankly, she was tired of feeling that poison emotion. It was all she felt! She was tired of all this manipulation. Tired of her nerves being lit on fire with rage from Tama and Erron Black, but mostly with herself.

A hot tear ran down her face; burning against the already torrid redness that engulfed every inch of her skin; coming from the ire coals smoldering in the pit of her stomach.

She slid her back against the wall and sulked on the ground. Her bottom hit something, and she lifted herself and dug under to remove it.

Carver's book.

At first, she wanted nothing more than to throw it across the cell and watch it bounce against the wall— she even had her arm poised over her head.

_"This is from Abigail. I hope it can be useful while you are in here…"_

Bao's strange statement was the only reason she sighed and turned the book open. There was no interest in it, and she did not even know what she was supposed to be searching for. In all honesty, she did not even want to hold the book just because Norah was acrimonious about its owner.

She went to the end of the book, growing impatient until her eyes caught the sight of one word that was inked on the page.

_Whore_

It was written small and delicate, almost on top of the lines of the text; she was surprised she even noticed it. At first, she felt slightly offended but then realized that Abigail would never call her something as crude. Despite being mute, she knew the older woman didn't have a mean bone in her body. Carver would never absently write that as well. She noticed his notes in the book and most of them were positive poetic nonsense.

Her heart stopped dead in her chest. Norah was also certain if she could see her reflection, the color from her face would have disappeared as she read the scene on the page. It filled her with even more indignation and horror.

Bilbo Baggins had returned from his adventure to find his possessions being auctioned.

She was certain the choosing of the page was no coincidence. Abigail had done it purposely.

Her lip trembled at the truth as she felt every drop of blood coursing through her body boil. She had been wrong; someone was courageous enough to tell her the reality of her situation, after all. It did little to comfort her. In fact, she gripped the book so tightly she felt her fingers go numb from the pressure. She let out a flustered loud and outraged scream.

The daunting weight of the truth inscribed for her to see. Finally, there was something to solidify her worst nightmare, and it made her sick.

She had been right.

She was to be sold as a whore to some rich, disgusting buffoon of Tama's choosing.

She ripped the book apart in rage, cutting her fingers on the pages as she pulled page by page; imaging the worn smelly paper was Tama's face. Tears streamed down her face; hot and furious as she dropped the book. Gripping several crumpled pieces of paper in her fists, she placed her closed hands by the side of her head. Another livid scream escaped from her; muffled as she tucked her chin to her chest.

Extreme malice and determination ran through her. Norah had prayed to the Elder Gods she had been wrong, and they punished her for assuming correctly.

She would be an object. Whoever purchased her contract would rip her every night without remorse. Raped to whoever purchased her contract. Like Méh-è and perhaps for Abigail as well who avoided that fate.

Hope.

There was a way to beat Tama and Abigail had discovered it— perhaps at the cost of her silence. If Abigail could do it, so could she.

Norah wiped the embittered tears that feel from her eyes with a stormy conviction. She shook her head. This would not happen to her! She may have moronically fell into her hands— but no longer! Norah would _not_ become what Tama wanted of her!

She would be nobody's slave.

Nobody's whore.

She would be _nobody's_.

Perhaps Tanya had a point, despite how weightless the words of a traitor should be to her.

If she did not want to lose, she had to be smarter, and that would mean doing things that teetered between the eccentric and extreme. She couldn't afford to be held down by the restraints she had forged herself. It was time to find the key and do whatever was necessary for her to get it.

_Whatever_ was necessary.

_"Has a man coated his… virility in your blood yet? "_

Norah knew what she was referring to even though she was untouched. She had hears stories that the first experience hurt and usually caused bleeding. It always deterred Norah away from the act. There had been times she could have laid with a man. Some had been interested in her despite her appearance as a non-Outworlder, but the idea never agreed with her even if she was in the mood. Most of the men were repulsive to look at.

Norah looked down at the crumpled pieces of paper in her hand, the battered pages digging into her palms. Staring at them for the longest time, a repugnant thought crossed her mind.

_"I've heard exotic whores are worth more if they haven't been spoiled first."_

_"Your Tama is going to make quite the profit from your virginity. You're really not that ugly for an Earthrealm prostitute."_

Whatever was necessary…

With a reluctant sigh leaving her, she rolled the paper until it resembled a deformed phallus, but it was far too thin and would bend. The cup-bearer grabbed the book, ripped more pages and rolled it around the tube she assembled. The larger it became, the more apprehension she felt. Her temper quelled it when she reminded herself of the reason she had to do this.

If Tama purchased her the prospect of selling her virginity, Norah would deny it from her.

As soon as she was confident about the size of the paper, she began to roughly bunch up her skirt. With the fabric over the top of her thighs, she spread her thighs apart and pulled down the cloth over her crotch; exposing her sex to the air.

She didn't move, afraid of the idea to mutilate herself. It scared her and winced at the thought of the pain that it would bring, especially since it was unnatural. The thought of bleeding to death crossed her mind, but she considered that perhaps too absurd. She would be careful.

After contemplating it, she considered no other option that would be as sweet as this morbid revenge. A smirk grew on her face as she thought about the Tama when she saw her virtue stained on the inside of her legs. How it would ruin the monetary gain she had so desired to use her for. After all, that woman had done, what she constructed to do to her, Norah wanted to see Tama fail. _Just. One. Time._

She placed the point of the crumpled paper against herself with a morose elation. Tama would be furious. She would beat her for this. Lock her in the dungeon for even longer. Maybe cut out her tongue as well.

Norah didn't care about any of it.

_One time would be all she would need._

* * *

Hulin waited a day before he delivered his news to Tama. If he had to describe the expression on her face, he could only find himself comparing her to one of those large feline mounts when they saw another creature of their gender taking their food. He knew this would be her reaction when he told her about her quiet servant Abigail and her gift to Norah.

The frenetic rancor that graced her face made her look abominably hideous. Hulin had told her that it would lead to more wrinkles if she continued to display such aggressive behavior.

Still wearing her morning garments that consisted of a long black silk shirt, matching baggy pants and slippers as she marched out of her room. He smiled to himself and followed behind with his hands clasped behind his back.

This would be an entertaining day it would seem.

" _You_ allowed this!" she blamed with a furious tone.

"I did not perceive how strongly you would object to such a simple item," Hulin lied with a flat tone.

"You know I do not trust that old whore," Tama malignantly reminded.

The torturer rolled his eyes. Yes. Yes, he did know how much she hated Abigail.

He stretched his legs to match her quick pace. Even though she was shorter than him, he had to admit he was having difficulty keeping up with her. It was quite amusing to see her so annoyed over such a frivolous thing, but perhaps that was because of how detached he was to how Tama felt.

He did not care for her as well. Their closeness was based on necessity from the both of them. She supplied him with slaves she no longer enjoyed or ones that angered her, and he returned the favor by aiding her when she needed. They had a beneficial relationship with each other.

Hulin was no fool though, and hoped the goal he designed would come to fruition. Norah had insulted him thanks to Tanya. In truth, he understood that the girl was always hesitant around him and he enjoyed how nervous she was; it made for better prey.

In the cell however, she knew his game and he did not agree with that at all. He wanted his victims anxious and ignorant. It provided him with more satisfaction.

He knew that Abigail most likely warned her about what she was to become when Tama found a wealthy suitor. Hulin smirked as they approached the dungeons closer. Now that Norah knew, he suspected that the stubborn girl would do everything in her power to avoid Tama's arrangement. She would be concerned with that and not so much on him. He laughed inwardly to himself. Perhaps Tama would grow so agitated with her that she would sell her to Hulin for a low price.

He never had to purchase one yet, but the fact that she knew about his nature made the thought more enticing. He wondered under that Earthrealm complexion there was the structure of an Outworlder after all. He rubbed his fingers in anticipation of discovering if the meat was different… and if it _tasted_ different as well.

Hulin opened the door in a gentleman fashion for Tama that she didn't thank. Instead, she snatched the ring of keys from Hulin; the sound causing Tanya to approach the door.

The Edenians looked at each other with identical expressions of engrossment as Hulin followed Tama into the cell to see Norah already on her feet.

The book that had been given to her laid in a shredded mess all over the cobblestones of the prison room. At first, he though it nothing more than the aftermath of a temper tantrum until he saw what Norah held in her hand.

There was an ardent arrogance about Norah, especially when she stared only at Tama and the side of her mouth pulled up in a nefarious smirk. It only made Tama fume even more when she saw the rolled up collection of pages with blood coated over half of it; her hand was also soaked in dried blood as well.

"What did you do!" Tama shrieked. Her voice pierced his ears, and he was certain the Kahn could have heard that all the way from his throne room.

With her stringy and dirty hair framing and gripping her face, she tossed the rolled up sheets at Tama's feet with a winner's gloat.

"You bought me for my purity, yes? There it is."

Hulin heard Tanya suppressing her laughter behind him and failing miserably. He had to agree with his fellow Edenian; it was delightful to see Tama in such a state of shock, repulsion and furor. The look of gratification on Norah's face made it even more comical. He could never recall Tama ever losing and he always somewhat admired that about the older woman, yet to see her such a sore loser removed any admiration he had and instead replaced it ineffable satisfaction.

"I will have your head for this!"

The woman raised a hand to the young servant girl, preparing to strike her across the face..

His eyebrows rose up in when Norah caught her wrist and crushed it.

Her eyes narrowed into embers of fire as she scowled at her employer. "What is the matter? Isn't it what you _wanted_ from me all along? I just gave it to you _free_!"

With a hard shove, she threw Tama off balance as she released her wrist. The older woman snarled, reaching out and abruptly grabbed a chunk of hair on top of her head; dragging her out of the cell. Much to his surprise, the only fight that Norah returned was grabbing the top of Tama's hands so she didn't rip her hair from her scalp.

Tama flashed an outraged glare in Hulin's direction. "Bring me that old whore!" she ordered. "I will do what I should have done long ago."

With Norah's hair as a leash, she dragged the girl roughly out of the cell with her following behind. Hulin swore he still saw a large grin on Norah's face as they disappeared through the door.

He felt eyes on him and heard a feminine giggle muffled under a hand. Hulin turned towards Tanya and raised an eyebrow. "Was that your suggestion?"

"No," Tanya chuckled. "She thought of that all by herself. I was wondering what she was doing in there. Although I suppose I am _somewhat_ to blame."

Hulin gave a dismissive shrug at Tanya's proud allegation before he gave his back to her and left the dungeon to fetch Abigail.

* * *

Erron and Reptile, who were on their way towards the exit of the palace, came across a befuddling sight. At least, to the Zaterran it was, to Black it might as well have been a punch to the gut.

Tama dragged the girl who he thought had escaped embarrassingly down the corridors by her hair. The look on the older woman's face was unnerving. In short, she was completely vehement, and she didn't do anything to hide the fact.

She pulled the girl, yanking her by the hair to force her to keep up with her heated strides. Black grimaced at her battered and dirty state, resembling a mangy dog. The cup-bearer didn't notice them nor did she do anything to fight against Tama's scornful treatment of her.

He did notice that she was limping, and the hand she had over Tama's wrist was covered in blood. Reluctantly, and ignoring Reptile who questioned his sudden walk towards the two, he approached Tama and stopped the woman in her tracks.

"Is there a problem, here?" he challenged, blocking her path as he placed his hands on his hips; naturally resting over his guns. The older self he knew ridiculed him for once again getting into affairs that nothing to do with him; reprimanding him at the back of his mind. He quieted the voice when he saw that she was still in the palace and felt his guilt bite at him. He ignored her when she was in trouble once, and he was determined not to make a repeat of what he did. He would prove the girl wrong about him if it helped shut up his nagging disgrace.

Tama bared her teeth at the mercenary. "Get out of my way, Black! Go about your business!"

The servant lifted her head when she heard the name. As soon as her eyes landed on him, the hardened at him like an ill-tempered viper. Perhaps viper was the wrong snake to compare her to because she spat at him like a cobra. It hit his eye, causing him to squint it. He honestly couldn't say he was surprised.

As he wiped her saliva from his eye, Tama pulled the girl's hair like a horse's reigns, causing the girl to cry out slightly in pain and circled around him. They stormed down the hall and disappeared around the corner.

"Was that effort satisfactory?" Reptile degraded at him. The Zaterran didn't wait for his reply and instead continued in the direction of the palace doors.

Erron looked back where Tama and the cup-bearer disappeared

_Not even close…_


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

**Bite the Bullet**

* * *

Abigail had to admire Bao for his determination, even though she knew it was pointless to argue with the guard. As soon as Hulin left to deliver the book, Bao had regretted letting him leave. Panic encompassed him in as it normally did with him in regards to what Tama would do once the torturer that took her tongue unveiled her conspiracy.

The older woman had bickered for months with herself over a way to inform Norah that Tama wasn't interested in her baking and serving abilities. Abigail had been in the same predicament many years ago and she was steadfast to have at least _one_ escape even if she had failed to do so before…

* * *

**_40 Years Ago_ **

She didn't feel guilty that she had gotten caught running. In fact, the only thing she was regretful about, was that Bao was involved in it.

It had started like a joke that Bao had taken too seriously. Abigail smiled at the memory, even though her face hurt from the effort; bruised from the guards that had brought her in; she had put up a fight but had lost.

She had called him a daft for even conjuring up such an impossible fantasy. Abigail had always lived under the impression there was no escape from the palace—Bao was not so convinced, however.

The blonde had told him to forget the entire thing, that it was something only done in Earthrealm. Abigail also didn't want to fall into the cliché of the forbidden lovers departing into the sunset like some sappy harlequin romance novel.

However, after Bao had told her about his mother's secret dealings with the Earthrealm girls she came in contact with, the idea became incredibly more persuasive—in fact, it was the only option left.

In hindsight, Abigail had always figured that Bao had wanted to run away from the overbearing claws of his mother. Perhaps he never even knew that he had been waiting for an excuse until now.

He was her reason to finally try.

Bao wanted her safe, but she knew that might also mean that he would suffer consequences for the cost of her freedom.

_"You are all the reason I need. If this fails, I shall deal with it as well. I will not leave you alone in this."_

A tear ran down her face as they dragged her to Tama's room—the cave of the lion waiting to maul her to bits.

Each guard's grip was crushing, and she could barely keep her head up. Her knees and shins scraped against the floor of the palace hallway, peeling skin away; the guards the only reason she was able to make it to Tama's room at all.

Everything ached with each movement, feeling like one of those poor tortured buggers who had to endure the Tower of London.

_Bao. I'm sorry. I hope they are not knocking you around too hard because of me._

The guard opened the door, and waiting behind her desk like a vulture on a perch waiting for carrion, was Tama.

Despite the bruises on her face, Abigail lifted her chin proudly at the woman. Tama did not take too kindly to the gesture and scowled; her lip curling up quickly like a predator would do to a fellow competitor.

"Put her on her knees," was Tama's explicit command. Abigail could hear how furious she was despite how even she tried to keep her tone.

The guards did as instructed and Abigail winced in pain. Her body hunched forward and her hands stayed on her lap. Tama rose from the desk and approached her till she was in front of her. Abigail could barely make out her form through her blood-stained blonde hair that hung around her like a messy curtain of tattered cheesecloth and could only see Tama with one good eye—the other closed shut by a guard's fist.

Abigail looked at Tama regardless, doing her best to appear unafraid under the older woman's livid gaze.

"Leave me with the slut," Tama barked, crossing her arms over her chest. The guards left in silence, their footsteps and the sound of the door closing the only noise that came from them. She almost wished she had the guards present to chaperone. With the stern look of malice and the way Tama's chest rose up and down with each heated breath, Abigail really had no idea what the woman was capable of at this point.

Seeing her employer as furious as she was horrifying and the Earthrealmer had to admit she was afraid of her at the moment.

Tama looked like a calculative horror movie villain out of one of those ridiculous American Slasher Films. Leatherface, Buffalo Bill, that mad little girl who needed an exorcism, they would have all quivered in terror at the blank, but murderous look Tama was giving her at the moment.

Regardless of it, Abigail would stand her ground. "Your son may be frightened of you, but I'm not. Even with that cheeky look you are giving me."

Tama's face twisted into a snarl and backhanded her sharply across the face.

Abigail to let out an involuntary groan of pain as her head hit the floor. She lay on her side, pressing her hands against the stone as Tama hovered over her with the same, expressionless but deadly look. She had to admit, for an old bitch, she had a mean and strong hand.

"I always hated the way that you talked," Tama stated with a flat tone. "I always found that accent of yours unbearably annoying."

"Bao seems to like it just fine," Abigail shot back; her voice a smug but carried on a pained whimper. She grimaced as she began to pick herself up. Weakly, she managed to sit on her bottom with Tama glaring down at her.

Tama sneered at her response. "My son has always had a weakness for pretty little whores and their charms. At least after today, I will no longer have to hear you speak again."

Abigail flinched at her words, a sudden shred of trepidation flowing through her at Tama's vague declaration.

The door opened, and Abigail felt herself let out a shaky gasp at who it was that walked through it.

Hulin only held only two things in his hands: metallic tongs and a knife. He looked over to at her for a moment, before regarding Tama with an almost displeased disposition.

"Just a simple removal?" Hulin asked with a disappointed sigh. "Will I at least be able to keep the tongue?"

Abigail's bottom lip quivered at the instruments and the man that held them; understanding Tama's intention and what the woman thought fitting as revenge.

Tama gave her a close-lipped, but side-lifted smile at her when she could see that Abigail understood what she had planned.

Tama walked over to her and grabbed her by her chin. The woman's nails dug sharply into her already blue and black battered face, and Abigail let out a moan of pain; she could feel Tama's nails cutting into her flesh.

"Your fatal error was not running away or spreading your legs," Tama spat at her, each word trembling with a violent shake. Tama sharp eyes suddenly softened and Abigail could swear for just a brief second, Tama she looked devastatingly heartbroken. It was more alarming than any of the other looks and Abigail floundered under it.

"It was stealing the only thing I _ever_ loved from me."

* * *

The Earthrealmer never knew if she kept her alive to further torture her, or because of Bao. That remained an enigma, but there was one thing that hadn't.

Abigail wanted retribution for her stolen clout.

It didn't break her, but it _had_ crippled Bao and her. They had to resort to other ways to express how they felt, but it was never the same. Tama had taken their ability to stay conjoined in their captivation with each other. Though she knew it was a constant tumor that grew over the years and ate away at his confidence, Bao blamed himself for her inability to engage in conversation. His mother was barking mad, she never had her doubts about it, but despite an eternity of abusive words and grueling work under her thumb, she would never regret who she decided to fall in love with. Showing such persistence now, even at the eleventh hour, Abigail could tell that he still did as well, regardless of her previous reservations about how she thought he felt before.

Watching herself age was also another blow, an expected one, but one that hurt nonetheless. It shriveled her confidence even though Bao still claimed he loved her, she knew he did but the infatuation shifted into friendship. It was repulsed people in the palace what they were and so they opted to conceal cosset in private and away from the dangers of simple-mindedness. It was his suggestion and she agreed to it because the more she aged and the more Tama became a constant poltergeist in their life, the more her adoration for him depleted.

In the end, she did not love him as she once did. How could she? He was Dorian Gray and she was the hideous painting he had to hide away. She was nothing more than an obligation, spawn from his guilt for not saving her the first time.

Regardless that everyone saw her as frail, and at times she agreed as well, no innocent would become what Abigail was almost imprisoned to be. Unfortunately, she failed. Most of them were Earthrealmers and some even Outworld girls that either didn't believe her or in Méh-è's case, were too stupid to understand.

It crushed her each time to see the girl's carted off to be some arsehole's trollop and the gloating victory that Tama wore each time a purchase was made.

" _It is all an Earthrealmer is good for."_ Tama never said those words out loud, but the look in her eyes was like reading it from a teleprompter.

The old woman understood why she hated Earthrealmers in particular, they were the architects of her unbearable suffering in Tama's youth, but Abigail could never understand how she could do it to her own kind.

She always figured it was because no kindness could ever remove the affliction done to her— she noticed her target was always those who were naïve in regards to her own people. Abigail knew there was more.

Living under a veil of meekness helped conceal her despite Tama's eyes on her like a hawk until she felt the need to be a nosey parker. As soon as she saw Norah with _The Hobbit_ , reading it in the kitchen, she instantly had the page in mind and what to write.

Norah could be ignorant at times, but she knew unlike the others, the baker could have figured it out with the right push. In a way, she hated Norah for the longest time and could barely stand to be around her. Abigail only saw a reflection in a mirror.

What convinced Abigail that Norah was worth the effort was one small detail.

Norah did not trust Tama since her arrival.

The other girls did not like Tama, and cried about how cruel she was, but they never dug for the truth or wanted to break out of their cage.

Carver and Bert were also in the dark about what Tama wanted Norah for and when she saw the girl becoming more content, Abigail had to act. At least, Bert understood there was meaning to her theft and allowed it despite it was something precious of Carver's. Norah needed to know the truth before she was lost to the comfort of settling in the palace like the others had become.

Tama cut her tongue out, but what she failed to understand was there were many other ways to talk.

"The Emperor is denying anyone without permission leave the palace at this time," the guard informed authoritatively.

Bao's face twisted with frustration. "I was given orders to leave! We need stock for our kitchen!"

"You will have to _wait_ to retrieve the items," The Osh-Tekk rebuttled, blinking plainly. He was not buying Bao's blag and neither would Abigail if in the guard's boots.

Abigail saw Bao reach out to grab the guard, attempting to pin him to the wall when she saw his patience cut short. Immediately, she grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back; his face still contorted with dissatisfaction. The older woman led him away, noticing the guard seemed content the bug buzzing at him was flying away.

Bao turned to her and the hopelessness that invaded his eyes caused her own blue ones to reflect it back like a pond on a rainy day. Gingerly, not caring they were in public, she laid her palm on his cheek to silently convey, that _'it was alright.'_

The younger, handsome boy, still after all these years trying to grow into a man stifled by an overbearing demon at his back, pressed her hand more firmly into his cheek.

"I do not want this for you," Bao submitted with a heavy sigh. His cinnamon colored eyes engulfed in a brief blaze of anger. "Why? I would have told Norah. My mother would not have harmed me."

Abigail responded a fraudulent credulous smile to his lie. He had so many chances to inform other girls and he never did. The elderly woman knew why — she had always known what had stopped him. He had eyes on him more than Winston Smith had Big Brother watching him. Perhaps Bao had it worse than Winston, since the surveillance was his own flesh and blood.

It was one of the reasons why Abigail did not feel the same fondness as Bao did for her. Her tongue was not the only thing Tama robbed that day and his mother knew it as well. The bitch had taken his backbone. Perhaps, that was why she did not feel as much fear as she televised. This was her way of not only giving Norah the chance she deserved, but to retrieve what his mother took from him. Even if it was an extreme push that he would never forgive her for. Abigail just hoped he didn't fall too far and return back into the weak-kneed boy he was when she first meet him.

It was time for him to finally grow up.

"Abigail…"

The charismatic male voice addressing her sent shivers down her like a the cold tip of a knife tracing the skin of her spine. Bao's deflated face was confirmation enough of who was behind her though she recognized the voice without turning needing to turn around.

"Tama would like to have _several_ words with you," Hulin apprised darkly. "Perhaps we can discuss Earthrealm literature as I escort you?"

Bao shook his head, preparing to open his mouth to protest before he felt Abigail's other hand on his cheek. She kept his attention on her, telling him not to interject. Bao understood but buried inside of him, was argument threatening to burst out. His eyes brimmed with tears and she shared his heartbreak as well, but she did not shed a tear. Instead, she kissed him tenderly goodbye.

Abigail expected Hulin to give a disgusted snort, but it came from the guard they had pressed to let them go instead. Instead, all Hulin did was firmly grasp her arm. Bao floundered as soon as she was pulled away, looking as if he was having difficulty not buckling to his knees. Abigail's eyes crinkled as a compulsive reassuring smile failed to reach out to him. Bao did nothing and she chided him lightly.

_You knew this day was coming._

As the Edenian led her inside, Abigail watched as he turned to look back at Bao, and ridiculed acidly to her: "I always thought Bao's finger had a bland flavor to it. It seems I was right to assume that. A husband would not cower to save his wife unless he was anything but _weak_."

Abigail lifted her chin, pressing her lips into a solid line. Hulin could barb her with any poisonous words he wanted, they would have no effect on her this time. This time, she would not cast her gaze towards the floor and would meet her Medusa eye to eye.

"I will not lay with your corpse," Hulin foretold matter-of-factly, "I prefer to fornicate with warmer flesh despite what words are whispered in corridors about my preferences. I doubt Tama will let you live, but hopefully, your withered muscles are adequate enough. I feel like a roast with my vegetables tonight."

Abigail let out a scoff through her nostrils as her blue eyes flared with repulsion at him.

_Choke on me, bastard._

* * *

Norah was actually thankful for the grip on her hair, because despite how harshly Tama pulled on her scalp, it was nothing in compared to the pain she felt between her legs. With each stumble through the hallways, shockwaves of throbbing, painful pressure pierced her insides. Each step produced more invisible lacerations; as if she were still inflicting herself with the rolled up paper she had left behind in the cell. Her self-mutilation had not been easy, it was horrendous and she could not see why any woman could find enjoyment in their first time.

Norah let out a sigh of mild contentment. It was over, she had done it and it was irreversible. The baker felt another rivulet of blood travel down her inner thigh and ironically, she found herself smiling again.

Tama's emotional, frenzied explosion in her cell filled her reassurance that she did not maim herself for nothing. It was the reaction she was hoping for. It all but confirmed the legitimacy of Abigail's riddle and it was the first time, Tama had lost.

Another impolite tug on her hair caused Norah to let out a small hiss through her teeth. The cupbearer felt her halt for a moment, jingle the keys out of her pocket, before it was followed by the unmistakable sound of a door handle being turned.

She didn't have to look up to know that they had finally arrived at where Tama would reprimand her. The only attempt at fighting to escape from her had been reaching towards a decorative vase — one that was too far away— to smash against her head. Unfortunately, she was too tired, hungry and dehydrated to fight off Tama dragging her like flour through the streets of the market.

It did not mean she wouldn't stop fighting. Now that she was out of her cell, with just Tama as her only blockade to freedom, there was an opportunity that she could seize. The slave just needed to wait for the right moment to sneak past her master –by force if she needed to.

"Get in there!" Her contract holder ordered, throwing her by her hair into the room.

Her weak legs found their bearings after a few small stumbles. Even with the dark drape of sloppy, greasy hair in front of her face, she knew where she was.

"So what token from _me_ will you decorate your desk with?" Norah questioned maliciously, her voice purposely impish. "I am sure it will be my soiled virginity knowing how repulsive you _really_ are. You left it in my cell."

Norah's eyes were on the desk, scolding each item with hatred, therefore, she did not Tama's hand reach out for her— but she did hear the savage roar of enmity before her hand struck her head. The woman grabbed her once again by the back of her hair, pulled back like reigns on a mount, and then tossed her to the ground.

Norah landed with a grunt on her hands and knees, pain searing through her lower body. With a snarl, Norah tilted her head and huffed.

_I am getting rather tired of my hair being pulled._

Pressing her hands against the stone ground, she attempted to lift herself back on her feet…

Norah let out an explosive cry of agony when she felt the older woman's foot connect with her groin from behind with as much force she possessed. Honestly, Tama didn't need so much effort to cause her tremendous pain. It was an enraged, vengeful kick that propelled Norah to the ground with her hand instinctively covering her lap. She winced, her eyes shut tight as she rolled like a pot fallen from a shelf. Cutting sparks of electricity fried her loins and already she could feel blood soak through her purple skirt.

Norah rolled on her stomach, reached out her hands and once again tried to lift herself up. A draft of heated and pained breaths came through her teeth as her genitals screamed with wretched pain. Norah ignored it and instead committed to the idea of delivering the same amount of pain towards her keeper.

Just as she removed her stomach from the floor, it flattened against the cold granite once more - accompanied by another howl of pain. Norah looked up, just in time to see the iron fireplace poker descend on her back again. Her nails scratched against the stone floor when it struck her back again. Tama did not use the pointed end, but the bluntness from the shaft sent curt and vibrating pain throughout her back. Already, she could sense the bruises forming.

"You think yourself so clever?" Tama seethed at her. Another hit and Norah's face hit the ground with a muffled cry escaping her. "You are _still_ to be sold! You have accomplished _NOTHING_!"

Norah let out a taunting laugh, although it was hard to distinguish it as one as a sobbing cry of pain overlapped it seconds later when Tama belted her with the iron cane again.

"Then… Then why are you so upset?" Norah argued, her mouth twitching with every pulsating wave of discomfort.

With an animalistic growl, Tama rolled her on her back by grabbing the back of her blouse. The servant looked up to see Tama unscrew the barbed end of the poker and toss it to the side. It clattered next to her head, too far out of her reach.

A scoff escaped her lips when she witnessed the furious but calculating look on her employer's face. Norah understood; she was trying to decipher how to punish her without leaving anything permanent.

"That is right. Do not leave any scars. How much am I worth now with a branded wrist, scarred shoulder and nothing to stain the sheets of whoever you sell me too?"

The poker smashed against her exposed stomach. Her hand wrapped around her midsection as she crumpled to the side, curling instinctively to protect herself. Norah's eyes squeezed even tighter when she felt Tama's hand wrap around her chin and lift her up. Her stomach contracted and felt as if she had been pierced by a dull dagger. A whimper unwilling left her, encouraging Tama to dig her nails even harder and withdraw a louder one from her.

"I am _upset_ because I will not get the sum negotiated for the unbroken cunt I saved from starvation -" she jerked her, illustrating that she meant her. Norah's narrowed her eyes wrathfully at her, as her hand clasped around her wrist; the woman's nails bit into her skin harder. Tama smirked at her, smugly and nefariously; causing her face to look even more ghoulish.

"A pity for you than it is for me," Tama whispered vindictively. "I _did_ have buyers willing to pay much for you. Especially when I told them you were untouched. However, after what you have done, I am willing to part with a few more coins to see you sold to someone who will do worse than fuck you."

"You will never sell me," Norah protested, lifting her chin up despite Tama's grip on her face. "You are _nothing_ and there is nothing you can do to frighten me any longer _._ I will fight back for what you took from me _._ "

The older Outworlder snorted at her bravado. "Whatever _fight_ you possess, I will smother it. _You_ are nothing. You are the same as the rest of the Earthrealm girls I have sold. You can contend against me and you will fail as they did. I will prove it to you. Ponder on what sweet, sentimental words you will give to Abigail, for it is the _last_ time you will speak to her."

Norah's wall of braggadocio fell at her words, conveying it had to Tama with a minuscule gasp of horror. "You… You are going to _kill_ Abigail?"

Tama nodded.

Norah's teeth bared at her, as she wrung her hands tighter around the woman's wrist. "Just for telling me what it was you planned to do with me! What is _wrong_ with you?!"

Tama brought her face closer to hers as her voice dropped into an ominous poisonous baritone. "Thank you for providing me with the motivation to do what I should have done _long_ ago. I could not have found the strength to do it without you, Norah."

She was going to kill Abigail, the only person that had the bravery to tell her the truth— in front of her, just to prove a point. Norah had been right about what she had said before: this woman was truly nothing. Nobody could be this cruel and still be deemed a person. Bao was correct in calling her a monster because she was. It was the only applicable word.

"You will both learn your place, finally, and I think you both will need no more _lessons_ after this. You may have defiled yourself, but do not mistake the extents _I_ am willing to go to," Tama let out a breathy laugh and Norah spat in her face for it.

Tama to let out a disgusted growl and released her with a hard throw. Norah's back hit the ground before she quickly recovered and pushed herself from the floor.

Carrening forward, she managed to grab the older woman by the throat with a shriek and push her to the ground. The woman's head bounced off the floor. Dazed, Norah climbed on top of her, straddling her— purposely choosing to neglect how much it hurt her to be in such a position.

Norah pressed down on her throat, causing Tama to sputter for air. Good!

" _My place_ is _not_ here _nor_ in the bed of who you sell me to!" Norah screamed, pushing down harder. Tama eyes widened in alarm. The younger woman squeezed down even more with implacable furor "I. WANT. _MY_. CONTRACT. Or I will show you the extent _I_ am willing to go!"

A yowl of pain burst from her lungs when Tama grabbed her ear and tugged it hard— earning a shrill cry from the younger girl.

She landed on her side and felt Tama climb on top of her, trapping her by sitting on her chest. A slap stung her face, casting it to the side before Norah returned with one of her own.

Tama's yanked on her hair again, pulling her forehead towards Tama's chest before she hit her with another slap. Norah's hand shot out towards her face, her cheeks burning hot under her palm before she latched out for her attacker.

Blindly, she managed to curl her fingers around Tama's hair. They both grunted and fought for dominance. Norah pushed her torso upwards, bracing her feet against the floor and managed to throw the woman off her.

Whirling around on the ground, Norah eyes landed on what she was searching for. Limping to her feet, her thighs slicked with blood and pain grappling at every inch of her body, she picked up the poker and turned on Tama.

With her less dominant hand, she struck Tama as hard as she could across the face. The woman groaned as her head flipped to the side.

Norah lifted it over her head, aiming for her nose before Tama suddenly launched at her. Tama's hand gripped the wrist that held the poker and pushed it away from her. Norah's threw her head back in anguish when Tama's fingers burrowed under the bandages of her wounded shoulder. With no other option that she could conceive, Norah did what came to mind first.

Tama let out a wail when Norah clamped her teeth into her arm and bit down hard. It did not last long as Tama pushed her weight into Norah and knocked her into the back of the desk. Her injured back flared with pain and caused Norah to buckle to the ground on her rear. Still holding onto the iron poker, she lifted it towards her attacker but found her hand slammed hard on the ground; pinned under Tama's foot.

She feebly tried to lift her wrist but Tama's heel crushed it to the ground. Another slap sent her landing on her side; breathing heavily with her eyes closed. Exhausted, hungry, tired and wounded, Norah weakly tried to rise as she felt Tama seize the poker from her hand. She had managed to sit upright before Tama struck her across the face with the slender iron club. Her head returned to the floor and remained there. Her vision swam through a murky swamp of dull pangs and white dots dancing across a midnight black curtain that almost eclipsed her consciousness. Meekly the baker opened her eyes, faintly tasted copper in her mouth, and looked up to see a more unpleasant sight than Tama above her.

Erron Black confiscated the poker out of Tama's hand and threw it to the side with an audible clang. His eyes looked down at her and then fled back to Tama with an irate spark; it was so unlike him and figured all she was seeing a mirage of sympathy he didn't possess. Norah didn't trust it for one second that he was actually concerned about her well-being, but what plagued her was why he was even here.

Struggling, she managed to lift herself up enough to lean against the desk. Her face blistered with pain when it pulled into a hateful glower at him. Black briefly flickered her eyes over her, tensed them at her with a small pedigree of confusion when they lowered to the red spot on her skirt, and then flashed back at Tama.

"What do you think you are doing, Black?" Tama seethed.

Without warning, he reached out towards her. Norah tried to pull it out of his grasp as his hand wrapped around her wrist and began to drag her towards the door.

"Buyin' a contract," he answered blankly.

Instantly and pitifully she fought to worm her wrist out of his grasp. He reprimanded her with a quick heated glance, silently telling her to _'stop'_ illustrated in his eyes. Norah ignored his silent command and kept pulling back on her uninjured side. He lugged her along without any effort, despite she was giving all of her strength to get away from him.

With a jerk, he hauled her forward towards him, causing her to collide into his plated chest armor. The gunslinger looked down at her with an impatient stare that was shadowed by his hat; making his blue eyes appear more stormy than they were. Irately, she tugged her wrist away from him and he copied it, bringing her closer to them.

"Quit fightin' someone who's doin' you a favor," he hinted with a low growl, his eyes narrowed in the same distemper his voice displayed.

"Let go of me!"

Black rolled his eyes in annoyance at her and continued towards the door. Norah dug her heels into the floor but the only thing that happened was the soles sliding like ice across the stone. "Get your—"

"That is _not_ yours!" Tama roared, interrupting them as she marched after them. Norah felt Tama's hand land on her wounded shoulder and pull back, releasing an involuntary cry of pain from her. Black's eyes fled to Tama and before she could react, he pulled her out of Tama's palm and collided her into his side, placing himself between Norah and Tama. Before Tama could make a reach for Norah, her eyes landed on the revolver he had pulled from his holster.

Despite the wariness that Tama held in her eyes, Norah still shot a dubious look his way. She stopped fighting him; in fact, none of them moved as soon as he lifted his pistol until he broke the silence.

"It ain't yours either— at least not anymore," Black argued calmly. "Hand it over."

Tama scoffed lightly as her angry eyes flickered from the gun to him. "As I told you before, she is _not_ for sale."

Black's head lowered in her direction. "Maybe you didn't hear me. I said _give_ me, not _sell_ me."

Tama's face ignited at his words and she raised a finger to argue before he cocked the hammer back at her. Still furious with him, Norah couldn't help but blink in bemusement as soon as the lever clicked back.

What was he doing? _Why_ was he doing this? A disgusting thought crossed her mind that maybe he knew the purpose of her contract, but it was a preposterous one; Erron Black would not be interested in her after all their history. The only conclusion she could arrive at in the bewildering turn of events was that he just wanted to get rid of her— perhaps kill her once they reached the outside of the palace walls. Why not just put the gun to her head and just do it then? He wasn't exactly one for subtlety and would not act out this parade of false concern for her well being.

Black gave a small, derisive scoff in her direction. "I think if memory serves me correctly, I told you I wouldn't miss next time. You willin' to wager your life how good I am at _this_ range?"

A resentful tug on Tama's upper lip before pressing back into a hard line was all Norah needed to know that the mercenary wasn't bluffing, and that only further muddled the thoughts of the already puzzled servant.

Was he truly serious? She shook her head at him, the action going unnoticed by the both of them as they continued to stare silently at each other.

There was another theory she did not want to admit to. Like a shore in the distance, taunting her with the promise of sanctuary, was the small idea that shyly called out to her— born only out of the strangeness of his actions. Was he… _helping_ her? Had Erron Black come to an epiphany about how awful his treatment was and felt penitence? Was he trying to sponge away his guilt with kindness?

Remembering he stopped them in the hallway also gave the notion more growth, rooting her to it when she fought against the unlikeliness of such a fantasy. Norah had abandoned any reverie of him doing anything remotely close to that long ago when he turned his back to her at the tavern.

After all he had done, and all that he had almost made her do, Norah found it difficult not to drown in her own speculation that there was something else he wanted.

The memory of the tavern caused her to bridle with malice and quickly quashed the small, naïve hope he was saving her for _her_. Black's decisions were easier to understand when she put herself in his self-centered shoes. They hated each other and he wanted her gone from his sight if it meant paying coins from his hoarding pockets.

The realization was like a light in a dark cave, exposing the nooks and crannies and eliminating the mystery. It was as simple as that because of how simply narcissistic he was.

Norah's eyes landed on the back of his head with an animus glare. Erron Black was doing this out of his own guilt, to ease the voice in his head so he could carry on with his duties without her plaguing him. Black wanted to forget, that was all. Everything he did was for him and the offer to buy her contract felt nothing more than empty.

Everything could be settled with money. It was such a logical philosophy for him. He would purchase the contract from Tama and forever be rid of her— just like he always wanted. The idea of him holding her contract was as deplorable as Tama still having possession of it.

Norah had to admit, however, the offer was inviting. Black was the reason she was brought here in the first place, and he was buying her out of the palace. If he truly was, even for greedy intentions, she still had a difficult not allowing him to do so.

"I'll be collectin' it when I get back, should give you plenty of time to find where you misplaced it," was his somewhat humored, but arrogantly smug goodbye. "Be happy I'm not obtainin' it by you know what are my _usual_ means."

"Keep the whore, then," Tama blurted with a heated spat. Tama's eyes flickered to her pelvis. "She is worth nothing now, anyway."

She watched as Black uncocked the revolver and placed it back into the holster, gave a mocking nod of appreciation for her time by pinching his fingers on the brim of his ha, and Black guided Norah to the door.

As they stepped into the hallway— with Norah even allowing him to walk her for a moment—a chafed stubbornness possessed her when she recalled the promise she made him not too long ago.

_" …I want you to always feel guilty for what you did."_

It was still true. Erron Black may have wanted to help her now, but he was not doing out of sincerity. It was selfish even if it was minutely beneficial for her. If the gunslinger thought this belated good deed, one she requested months ago, was suitable payment for his errors, then he had no idea how much of an insult it really was.

Norah pulled back on her arm and he responded by pulling her forward with one of his own; it was as imprudent as the warning look he glanced back at her with.

Resolute, she tried again, this time he stopped walking and turned around to face her. He held her wrist to his chest and looked down at her like a snake which she had stepped on. Already, he regarded her as nothing more than a nuisance and it only filled her with more enthusiasm to get his fingers off her. Another failed attempt to free her wrist earned a dark glower from the marksman.

"You wanna be stubborn and stay here or do you wanna leave?" Black scolded harshly.

His tone infuriated her; as if she was nothing more than a disobedient child. Norah responded by grabbing his fingers, pulling them back and pushing him away as soon as his grip was released. It was barely enough for him to even teeter back and forth on his heels, and it was almost as if he _allowed_ her to pry his fingers off.

"I want for you to stop pretending as if you are doing me any favors," Norah answered spitefully. "You are not helping me, you are doing this because you think this will erase your cruelty towards me. You are too late for your _rescue_ or any act of kindness you pitifully show to mean _anything_. You forsake that opportunity at the tavern. This changes nothing!"

He blinked his eyes rapidly and regarded her with an ugly scowl. "I asked you a question. You wanna stay here or do you wanna leave?"

"I do not want your help if it means you think this is enough to serve as an apology. I do not want your apology— in any form," Norah declared.

Black's head tilted to the side at her like a bull. An enraged, skeptical look entered in his narrowed eyes as he walked methodically over to her. Norah raised her chin at him in defiance. He was trying to intimidate her and she would not allow it despite that she the fear swirling in her stomach.

"First you _want_ my help, now you're refusing it?" Black began, each word growing more exasperated. "Then you _want_ an apology. I gave it to you, even after you pointed my gun at my head, and now you got the nerve to spit it back in my face?"

He knew she was wounded, still he grasped her by the shoulders. Norah couldn't help but wince at his uncaring grip that informed her just how affronted he was by her rejection of his help.

"What in the hell do you want, then?" Black demanded, his eyes sharp with impatience that was hanging by a bare thread. Norah's green eyes darkened at him and surprisingly, the words left her mouth easily; stoic, astute and honest.

"I want you to always feel guilty for what you have done," Norah answered, her tone apathetic but even she heard her voice choke up; as if lamenting at the memories. Black's eyes softened as carefully as the grasp on her arms did as if trying to hide that the words affected him. The baker could tell they did.

"I was wrong about you," Norah admitted, her voice cold. Although it could have been mistaken for an apology, they both knew it was anything but. "You can feel _something,_ after all. However, all you can feel is guilt and nothing more. If that is the only thing decent left about you and the only way for me obtain any relief from the hardship you have bestowed upon me, then I accept it."

Black soaked up her words and felt his fingers dig more into her skin briefly, out of uncontrolled anger, before he relaxed them.

"You do not possess the compassion to do anything if it does not have prosperity for you in the end. You are too selfish for anything else and I do not trust you no matter how charitable you pretend to be. I am no fool."

He said nothing.

"Even with your promise to free me from my situation, I have not forgotten you are the one that put me here. You are as much responsible as Tama is and that is why, even if it means I cannot escape here today, I will never accept your help to liberate me if it makes you believe that I have forgiven you. _That_ is why I do not want your help, or ever want your help. You would still feel nothing in the end."

Black remained quiet, allowing her to continue, and for the faintest moment, an understanding look deceptively stared back at her before he collected himself, refusing to drop his hardened demeanor. Norah could still see it behind his façade like an alpenglow and despite how fast he wanted the sun to set and snuff it away, so he did not betray the reputation he had, she basked in the light it cast. Not because she felt she misunderstood his nobleness, but because it haunted him.

"How does it feel when someone is unreasonably and needlessly cruel to you?" she questioned callously.

Turbulent thunder rolled behind his eyes and as quick as lightening, he lashed out. With a growl, he hugged her around the midsection, picked her up and placed her on his shoulder. With her slung over like a heavy sack, Norah immediately kicked and beat against his back. One of his muscled arms secured her legs by wrapping at the base of her ankles and pinned them to his chest. An infuriated shriek left her as she hit the back of his head, punching him as he carried her down the hall.

"Let go of me you son of a bitch!"

"Shut up," Erron Black ordered with lackluster voice.

"Drop me gods damn you!" she commanded. No! Black would not force this! All it meant was that he learned nothing! Predictably, he didn't and toted her against her will as if she weighed nothing. The mercenary ignored her fists against his head, even though she heard him grunt in pain every now and then. They passed by a couple of guards and their bewildered expression looked back at her as Black passed them without a word. Norah screamed, wiggled and punched relentlessly but she might as well of been fighting out of the clutches of a Leech Python.

The incompetence to escape him boiled her blood, but there was nothing she could do about it. Once again, he won and she lost. Black would get what he wanted despite what she did.

Tama's door opened and standing under the frame was the occupant of the room herself. She crossed her arms over her chest and with conniption, watched them leave in silence.

Sulking, Norah blinked back the tears and tried to push away the heavy weight of failure she felt. Just let him do this…let him get his way. You'll be out of the palace…

Her small remission to stop fighting his grip allowed her up just in time to see Abigail and Hulin pass by them. As if stamped with a hot iron, she jolted with trepidation. Abigail gave her one last somber look before turning away and allowing Hulin to guide her to Tama's door.

The old Earthrealmer had been the only one that gave a damn about her to tell her Tama's game. The only one brave enough to speak out unlike the others that had the ability to communicate it so easily to her. Abigail was going to die because of her and when she looked into the pensive and knowledgeable blue eyes, Norah knew that Abigail knew this as well.

It only panged Norah even more and the tear she held back fell over her quivering bottom lip. Besides Bert, nobody had risked their life for her, especially when she was so undeserving of their empathy; they were from different realms after all. Like being stung by a poisonous insect, the memory of Rain snapping Bert's neck flashed through her mind. It was Norah's sin – Bert's death was her fault— and it preyed on her guilt like a wolf with a wounded sheep.

_"Thank you for providing me with the motivation to do what I should have done long ago. I could not have found the strength to do it without you, Norah."_

This could not happen again. Not another death. Not another one because of her. She had too many already.

"No!"

The caterwaul bounced off the wall as the cupbearer desperately tried to break away from Black's iron hold. Through the haze of flailing hair that obscured her vision, she noticed Hulin and Abigail stop to look at her determined bout. Black eventually had to stop and, by mistake, he dropped her.

Landing with a grunt, Norah immediately bounded to her feet as fast as she could. A strong arm hugged her from behind much to her detestation and held on. Panic clutched at her throat, preventing any air in her lungs when Hulin smiled in amusement and began to take Abigail towards Tama's room while Black pulled her in the opposite direction.

"No! Let me go! They will kill her! Please!" Her eyes narrowed as she fought him, he didn't let her go.

A vehement snarl grew on her as she watched Abigail disappear through Tama's door, a victorious look on Bao's mother's face that she shot purposely at Norah with. "Get off me you insufferable bastard!"

Another minute of useless fighting did nothing and Erron Black held her still after she eventually ceased, seeing that it was hopeless.

"Please…" she wailed, a sob escaping her even though she knew her pleas fell on deaf ears."Please. They are going to kill her because she helped me."

The gunslinger's arm loosened for a moment but it wasn't enough for her to squirm free. With her greasy hair hanging like a veil at a funeral she watched as a tear fell from her face and dampened the stone floor. Norah waited for Hulin to deliver the final blow…

"She's your friend, right?"

The inquiry caught her off guard, especially with the perturbed voice she heard, despite the flatness of his voice, that couldn't have possibly come from him.

"What?"

His arm released her and with a firm but gentle push he placed her against the wall. Black raised a finger at her, his eyes sharp and stern. "Stay put, or I'll make you regret it."

Using the wall to hold herself up, the confused servant watched as he marched in the direction of Tama's room, flew open the door and entered.

"You _must_ be joking! Black! That one does not belong to you either!"

She watched the direction of the door carefully, her hopefulness for what she hoped was happening betraying what she thought he was doing. Bewilderment conquered every hateful fiber she had within in her towards him as soon as he exited the room…

Holding Abigail softly by the arm and leading her in Norah's direction. Abigail looked about as surprised as Norah was and she only managed to get the motivation to move when the mercenary reached out and cupped her under the arm as well. This time she didn't resist, too dumbfounded to really do anything but mull over what was happening.

Like a banshee, Tama's voice shook the walls of the hallway, calling at their backs that none of them turned to address. "You will regret this, Black! Mark my words! This is far from over! I will have _both_ of them back! You have won nothing!"

Norah mustered the gall to look at him, he noticed her stare and slid his eyes over to her for a glance. As always they were unreadable and blank; as fixed in his own world as the ocean was deep and mysterious. She wasn't going to find the answer to his motivations by silence, and once again had to decipher it for herself.

* * *

_What the hell was he doing?_

Never did he feel more self-conscious about his actions than now. Erron had no idea what to attribute it to, or why he was feeling the way her was. He walked the woman and her older Earthrealm friend, the one she put up such a fit over, through the outdoor market. Eyes were upon them, nothing more than passing inspection of the three and he could feel awkwardness seep deeper into his stomach.

He would have liked to think that maybe that was his conscious telling him he had been a proper idiot and did the commendable thing he was supposed to, even if the old woman wasn't planned. The gunslinger just wanted the girl that hated his guts.

Even now, as he walked her in streets of Z'unkaharah, he could still feel the animosity towards him. Erron didn't need to keep a hold on either of them, they walked of their own will, but he couldn't help but think that it still didn't change anything.

It wasn't because she had told him out loud, but he knew it deep down there was still a lot of damage that he had caused. Regardless, she could still show a little bit of gratitude.

_Didn't have to save your hide._

Erron scoffed. He never could understand what swirled around in her head, not that he really was trying to before the calamity in his room. Enough, though! Here he was, doing his charity and atoning against his best interests.

Reptile was already halfway to the Kuatan Jungle by now, and the Zaterran didn't resist admitting that he was a fool. Hell, he _was_ a fool. Everything he was doing went against years of the nomadic philosophy. Take care of yourself, nobody else matters.

This time was different; he went too far. Not everybody received his hatred, only those that provoked him. Everything she had done was unintentional and he needed to fix it so he could back to hunting with a clear head. This altercation was coming to an end for the both of them and he couldn't be more elated, even if she were far from it.

_"How does it feel when someone is unreasonably and needlessly cruel to you?"_

Unfortunately, her words still leeched on and he wasn't completely unremorseful. Selfish didn't use to be a word that meant much to him, but when he tested it with Bert's declaration that he lost his humanity, it stuck deeper than he wished to permit.

_"It ain't Revelations, but you'll find being on the shit end of a woman's grudge can be about just as biblical. Your ma' was quite the practitioner of that."_

Abraham had a point, even if he always found that phrase to be exaggerated. It wasn't near apocalyptic proportions, but he got the idea; at this moment, she could make War turn his red horse around in the other direction.

The girl was still mad at him, and he knew this wasn't making it up to her. Though, he knew there was a shift of tension between them as soon as he grabbed the old woman.

It kept her mouth shut and thankfully, allowed him to come with him without protest—apology or no apology given to him.

_"You do not possess the compassion to do anything if it does not have prosperity for you in the end. You are too selfish for anything else…"_

So what? Honestly, Erron could understand her not trusting him, but being bullheaded to point where she would rather stay in the palace instead of taking the easy way out was flat out stupid.

It was what she wanted, why stay somewhere she hated if it was just to prove how much she despised him?

_"I want you to always feel guilty for what you have done…"_

Again, a stupid way to show it if she wanted freedom.

_"We all have to chew the gravel at one point. Whether you can climb back on the horse is the real worry."_

Erron remembered the day he told him that. It was early in their experimental relationship, a couple weeks after his mother died, and he dragged him from town to town on his old stagecoach route on the treacherous Smokey Hill Trail. Town to town in that uncomfortable wagon and team of horses, running from station to station with him as a passenger in the carriage as if he were a piece of luggage.

Abraham still did his job. Sometimes, he had to sit on top of the coach in the rain while the cargo and passengers that paid their way, sat comfortably inside. The Smokey Hill Trail was exhausting, left him cold and hungry and filled him with constant fear knowing Indians were lurking around every shadow. He didn't want to be his shotgun and never recalled Abraham asking his permission. Erron hated the son of a bitch. He was convinced Abraham only wanted him there so he could point out his daddy for him so Abraham could send him down in a pine box. Erron wanted that as well, in fact, he had boiled with anger and was scared to death of running into the blue-eyed wolf that killed his mother.

Abraham was still running the coach, though! As if his job as a driver was more important than avenging his mother! It only gave him more reason to hate him and he wasn't shy showing it.

He was annoying him on purpose, trying to be as difficult as he could be towards his mother's former lover. Abraham had patience, but that candle eventually withered down to nothing, and when it did, Abraham didn't let him get away with any of his antics.

Dirt and horse shit in his coffee were his favorite and that was the last bit of wax that finally melted away. Abraham was angry and took him outside in the early morning while the passengers slept in the rest station.

Erron hated that memory, but it was when they changed their perspective of one another.

_"I ain't soft to the task laid to me at hand, boy. Your daddy will tell the Devil my Griswold is the reason for his stay, as sure as it is you hate me now."_

Those blue eyes glossed over with sadness. It only made it clearer that he was still mourning whatever had a hold of him when he said: _"Sin's a hard thing to wear and even harder to get off, but you hear me right—I plan on wearin' it for a little longer. We all have to chew the gravel at one point. Whether you can climb back on the horse is the real worry. Your ma' almost had me in the saddle… here I am though back in the dirt and I have six iron donations to give your pa' as thanks. You wanna see them delivered, then you better start chewin'."_

Black never mistook his impetus after that, but their relationship was still rocky at best for the longest time. Abraham was good to him, though, better than his real father would have ever been. Patience was his attribute, but still a peculiarity. Rarely did he raise his voice at him and never hand that he recalled. Though he was not one, you should anger despite the steadfast exterior. Erron saw him dispatch a man without hesitation, although always with some remorse — some he spent more time on than with others. Although, there was one man, Abraham never forgave himself for— and he wasn't the one that pulled the trigger.

She lifted her head and stared at a familiar sight, Erron knew what she was looking at without giving it a glance.

The location of their first meeting—the tavern he never should have ventured in to. Black had passed it on occasion and noticed it had befallen new management, well actually, _old_ management.

Her eyes darted away and he could see her gulp uncomfortably as they walked past her old establishment, now under control by the same Outworld brothers that lingered in the doorway. They had turned it into an inhospitable den of trades, mostly dealing in the selling of ambrosial company, whatever the preference, and benumbing refreshments you did at your own risk.

Although the place definitely renovated from when she had last set foot in it, it was still dirty just from first glance at the outside.

His eyes glanced over at her and with a glare; she returned a look that translated her thoughts perfectly to him. The only reason understood what she was saying was because he was thinking the same thing.

_You should have never stepped foot inside. It ruined everything._

Black had to agree. It derailed both of their lives.

Still, there were amends he could give her. The only restitution he asked for was that when he returned with Rain and Reptile, it was nothing more than a bad memory to add to his pile of many. Memories, he was trained in forgetting about. Outworld was a good teacher on how to do that…

They entered a poorer district, beyond the marketplace and that was when he saw she recognized where he was taking her to.

Her friend—the one that lit the torches at night.

With a brisk march, she got ahead of his strides and left him in the dust. Erron took that as his cue that she knew where to go from here and did not need him anymore.

_"_ You're welcome _,"_ he sarcastically remarked to himself. The mercenary tried to turn on his heel and leave until he felt a wrinkled hand grab his arm. Usually, anyone that laid a hand on him would have gotten their fingers broken, but instead, he turned to the old woman still lingering at his side, almost with a brief flicker of discomfiture, and found appreciativeness in her eyes.

"Abigail."

The husky, blunt feminine voice caught their attention, as both of the older adults turned to see the bruised girl waiting for her to follow along. The now ex-cupbearer crossed her arms over her chest, seemingly restlessly, as Abigail gave her thanks to him.

With an unsatisfied gaze in her direction, the older woman patted his arm, as if signaling her goodbye and walked towards the younger woman.

_At least_ _someone appreciates it._

As the older Earthrealmer walked to her side of the street, he caught a small stare of upheaval, quick but noticeable before she remembered to replace it with her constant state of hostility. He be damned, but it almost looked like she was thanking him in the most humble fashion she could allow.

With that same visage of stiff, aversion, the girl turned her back and walked with the old woman.

"You were right about one thing," Black avouched. The women stopped in their tracks, the elder looking back at him while she only turned her head minutely in his direction, her eyes on the sand.

"That you were wrong about me."

There was no rebuttal in return, only in the form of her returning back to her long, heated strides away from him, with the old woman left there standing in solitude in the middle of the street.

With the elderly woman looking at him, Black grasped the brim of his hat with two fingers, tipped it and spun on his heel towards the Kuatan Jungle.


	19. Chapter 19

** Chapter 19  
** **Once Upon A Time in the West  
Part 1  
 _Pistol Smoke_**

* * *

The shrill squealing alerted him to his snare, and it served as the only bit of good luck Erron Black had seen in a while. Lifting himself from the log, he stomped his leather boots towards brush. Raising the hat off his head, he brushed away the sweat that rolled down his forehead with the back of his arm. The midday sun in the Kuatan Jungle relentlessly showered down upon him and the shade from the canopy of trees did little to provide any comfort from the sweltering humidity. Black trekked on without complaint; he was more than adjusted to any hardship the jungle could fire at him.

There were only two places to hide that were the obvious for criminals so close to the capital city: the desert or the jungle— and he knew how to survive both better than who he was chasing. The latter took him longer; trial and error playing a key factor, but now it was as familiar to him like a cantina was to a drunk. He knew most of the nooks and crannies and the local animals that didn't take too kindly to outsiders. After all these years, he knew almost every hostile critter and plant by name and could put them into separate, simple categories of what he could eat and what to stay away from.

Trapped on the snare he set, was something that he couldn't eat and it made him grumble with disappointment, but not as much as his stomach angrily did. The 2-foot-long copper and charcoal colored arthropod twisted into a ball as it worked to remove the leash from around its long, tubular body. The pitched scream cut into his ears he formed a grimace behind his face mask because of it.

It wasn't the first time he had to eat bugs, but the gigantic, mirror image of an Earthrealm centipede was poisonous no matter who was eating it.

_So much for lunch._

Crushing the head under his boot heel, he watched all of its many, yellow legs flickered with pain before slacking. Untwining the rope from its body, he flung the dead insect and reassembled the snare.

Erron sat himself on the log and fiddled with his revolver while he waited for something to snag in the trap. There was no use in getting back to his agenda on an empty stomach — especially when he hadn't found a damn clue to where the Edenian was.

It had been six sunrises since he arrived in the jungle and three without a meal besides the fruit he could grab out of the nearby trees; it was the only thing he had managed to find. No Reptile and no Rain. The Zaterran would find him in his own time — they had been on plenty of scouting assignments to know he would eventually pick up his scent. If he had anything important to say, he would have told him by now.

Rain was a different story. There was nothing so far. The river fishermen hadn't seen him, no tracks were left by him and there wasn't anything that belonged to him grabbed by the vegetation.

_This is a goddamn waste of time._

The gunslinger knew it when Kotal Kahn gave him the assignment and even more so as the days marched on with the pace of an sick old cow with a limp. He found this task far more irritating than the previous ones as of late. Honestly, it would have been better to beat the information out of Tanya — he would have been happy to volunteer if it saved him from an exasperating and pointless hunt. Having nothing to go on was not his ideal way to start, but the thing that bugged him was how useless the Kahn knew it was prior to their departure. The Emperor was just throwing darts and hoping to get lucky.

_Quit bitchin',_ he reprimanded. _You're gettin' paid._

It wasn't the first time he had to remind himself today, and he blamed his hunger for his foul mood. Erron knew it wasn't that, though. He had been sour the minute he left Z'unkaharah.

_Don't think about it._

Black grumbled, placed his revolver in his holster and plucked a single bullet from his gun belt. The fire in front of him crackled and the heat it produced caused him to sweat even more; at least, the smoke was helping distract his nose from his own body odor and repel the mosquitos. Besides dripping a towel into water and wiping the blood off from the palace invasion, he hadn't cleaned himself properly for a couple of weeks.

Pulling a knife from his boot, he began to scratch against the surface of the bullet. Even though he was doubtful he would stumble upon Rain this trip, he could always have his name carved ahead of time.

As the tip of the knife screeched gratingly against the smooth surface of the cartridge, a bitter disposition creased on his face when he thought of Reptile getting to his bounty before he did.

As he painted the first vertical line on the bullet, he stopped etching when he realized that he wouldn't be able to use this particular breed of bullet on Rain. There was no point engraving his name if he wasn't going to use it for a kill shot— wasn't his tradition.

Erron bit the inside of his cheek and pocketed his knife in his boot before returning the bullet to his belt. Grudgingly, he ended up focusing on ways to get around letting Rain live. Every reverie he produced ended up coming up short in satisfaction for him. Either it would be a rebuke from the Kahn, a pay cut or both— which was what Black was leaning towards knowing the Osh-Tekk. A displeased frown worked its way on to his face. Rain wasn't going to deprive him of coins even if he did deserve the bullet.

_Doesn't mean Rain has to come back in one piece._ The rational voice in his head spoke up.

_You might as well, you already scratched it in._

With a roll of his eyes, he pulled the slug he was working on back out. Yanking the knife out, he worked on rounding the half circle of the 'R'. Even if the marksman never got to use it, at least, he was making the time pass. Also it kept his thoughts elsewhere and not where they wanted to migrate to despite his constant objections.

Unfortunately, her indignant expression, glancing over her shoulder at him in the middle of the street crossed into his mind once again and he hissed through his teeth when the tip of the knife slip and nicked the inside of his index finger. With a scowl, he stabbed the knife into the log next to him, placed the bullet beside it and unclasped his face mask. He sucked on the cut and spat out the blood he soaked up.

_Ever the pain in my ass._

Erron frankly couldn't understand why she still was. He had washed his hands of her finally. They could walk by each other in the marketplace as strangers again. There was nothing left to owe...

_I ain't gonna be brought down in her shit anymore. There's nothin' left between the two of us._

His eyes focused back on his work and he found his knife pausing as he finished the 'R.' The cut on his finger caused a small sample of blood to pool in the ditches he dug on the round. He ran his thumb over it and smeared it across the gold metallic surface. His blood darkened it and turned it into rust colored hue. Staring down at it, and ceasing he sighed when Erron found himself recalling the fight that took place in his room.

Rain had him pinned and he could have ended his life there. The only thing that had stopped him was the knife she used to plant in his back. Even now, Black couldn't piece together why she did that when she was planning on shooting him in the head a day later. Was it a selfish knowledge that she would need a Kahn's guard to eliminate the threat against her in that room? Or was she trying to help him after all?

_You know why, Black._

It wasn't any of those reasons and the affirmation of the truth he knew didn't help rid him of the memory from that night— he wished he could though because of that detail.

She attacked him because he killed Bert.

It was revenge.

Before that, Erron would have never considered her capable of trespassing across that treacherous border. He honestly thought of her as naïve and upright despite the mean mouth she used when she wanted to. The terrible veracity of the matter was, one he hated admitting, was that he could relate.

_The face goes away after time no matter what. Name... that's harder to toss._

_I'm tired of you, Abraham. Bury yourself back in the dirt where you belong._

Black let out a grunt, one that he was thankful that only the fire in front of him witnessed. Her words about guilt, and how she always wanted him to feel guilty, leeched back on him. Back when she had said it, he wasn't ashamed to admit that it wasn't her he was thinking about no matter how much her words had stung him.

It was Abraham and the first time he ever felt truly remorseful about something.

He looked down at the bullet in his palm, letting it roll against the calloused surface of his skin.

_Hear my words and let them stew in that fool head of yours, Aaron… you'll remember his face **and** his name, alright._

He actually couldn't recall the face anymore, but it wasn't a stranger to him. The name on the other hand, that would always be branded into him. Staring down at the single 'R' drawn on the bullet, the muscles in his cheeks twitched as he gritted his teeth. Even the single letter, was enough for him to recall that name he had wasted so many nights trying to forget. Despite the years in Outworld and the efforts that Abraham and himself had mustered forth, it always stayed on his conscious.

The single bullet laid in his hand with a heavy weight and he always found it funny how something so small could have invoked such torment for him. Innocent when away from the gun, but with the right person placing it in the chamber, could change the fate of what a person's character would grow up to be. It wasn't the same bullet, nor was it a descendant, but it might as well have been the very same one from that night.

Maybe it was boredom that compelled him to do so, or perhaps he thought in some way it would help him get the memory off his mind for a brief duration, but he stopped carving Rain's name.

As if he had a hand guiding his fingers, helping him write, he ignored the name of the Edenian...

And inscribed the name of the person he hated the most.

* * *

**Smokey Hill Trail  
1868**

Even after all this time of collaboration together, it still didn't help either of them see eye to eye.

The only reason he had agreed to come with him, instead of running off in the middle of the night, was because they were united in their pursuit to kill his father. Over the recent past couple of months, however, Aaron was doubtful he was still concentrating on that mission anymore. Most of the time he had been too tired to argue his suspicion until they reached the way stations at the end of the hauls.

While Abraham quarreled that Aaron was wrong about his cynicism, there was always doubt no matter how much the stagecoach driver tried to persuade him otherwise. Time was always why. It had been too much time spent on things that were irrelevant. Specifically, with Abraham's occupation. He understood that he still had a job to do, and it provided for them, but being dragged around like luggage was not what he had in mind when they had set out to find his father and deliver the same charity he had given to Ma.

There hadn't always been a feeling of animosity between them. In the beginning, they bonded decently after a bumpy start. The worst of his transgressions during that time was when Aaron had swindled a good Christian woman for a train ticket and almost accompanied her far out of Black's clutches. His surrogate jumped on the train before it pulled out, paid the woman the price of the ticket for the inconvenience, and made the _'despondent, lonely orphan'_ clean the Livery and stables from Atchison to Denver every opportunity he could volunteer him for the task.

Even though their conversations were civil, and they sometimes helped each other with chores, Aaron still gave Abraham trouble every chance he got. Most of it was lighthearted jokes that only got an eye roll out of the salt and peppered haired man but for the first year they were particularly more vengeful than the second. Shit in the coffee can was probably his favorite, but he never managed to get Abraham with it. He was too watchful for the child's pranks. After that, he was determined to get him and each time he failed.

They did grow tolerable of each other. They could talk about the weather and whether the storm clouds in the prairie horizon would turn into a funnel or pass overhead. It was their small game and Abraham always won because he knew the pattern when a funnel was about to touchdown beforehand. The closest they became to friends was when Abraham thought it wise to teach him how to use the Baby Philadelphia Derringer beyond just how to pull the hammer back and squeeze the trigger.

They practiced shooting bottles, and he did decent for his first attempt, even though the pistol hopped from his hand the first time he shot it. Out of the 5 bottles, he managed to miss all of them at ten paces. That was only the first shooting lesson, though, because their time would get eaten up by his work, but he let him carry it on him as long as he kept it out of eyesight and his finger off the trigger. He hadn't had to use it yet, but there had been occasions where he did reach for it.

The Smokey Hill Trail had toughened him while still scaring Aaron half to death with each trip. He had been through the mill with all the trail could throw at him, but the natives still worried him no matter how used to their sight on the horizon he was. Still, they threatened to swarm at them like angry hornets every chance they could after they past Fort Ellsworth and all the way to the Pond Creek Station where they vanished into the tall buffalo grass of the rolling prairie hills.

Aaron hated them, just as much as they hated the white folk trespassing along their hunting lands. At least the coaches frequently came in contact with the soldiers at the forts that would escort them when needed or required. It still never settled his mind, especially when Abraham and Aaron would have arrows whizzing by their ears in the driver's box. However, the worst of it was the bonfires in the distance and body parts they passed from the men that weren't lucky enough to escape them. Even with him sandwiched between the Jehu and the Shotgun, he was constantly reminded by the Cheyenne and the Arapahoes that they were unwelcomed pilgrims— their land as seldom mentioned to him by Abraham and disagreed hotly by his Shotgun.

The thin man with the square jaw stared at the blue-eyed boy next to him with a discontent tug at the corner of his mouth. Glaring down at him with stern brown eyes, the coach guard turned back to the road as Aaron did the same — both of them looking for silhouettes against the midday horizon. Despite that the Shotgun didn't like him, he hated the Indians more — understandably because they were more bothersome than the 7-year-old was no matter how much he wanted to wring his neck lately.

The older, broad-shouldered Missourian thought he was a nuisance before he provoked him at Pond Creek last hitch, now he wanted nothing but to _'throw him, make the ponies buck and leave him for the Reds to trim'_ as he told him after he had sampled the coffee. Aaron stifled his laughter as the springs on the bench rocked him between men. Even if Zachariah wasn't his target, he was still proud he gotten him to swallow horse shit. The only reason he had was because he had accidently drank from the same pot of coffee that had been nefariously intended for the driver. As always, Abraham had caught on to Aaron's game quicker than Zachariah, who paid the price for his obtuseness.

Now he hated him even more.

Who hated him, whether it was the soldiers, the upright folk on their way to Denver City, or the miners headed there for the looted creeks and thought _'a boy had no business being on treacherous travels,'_ never once crossed the kid's mind. Aaron reached into his brown pants pocket and pulled out the piece of paper he always carried with him, besides the Harper's Magazine article on James Butler Hickock, as if it were his own attached limb.

**REWARD!**   
**FOR ARREST OF WELLS FARGO and CO'S EXPRESS ROBBERY  
Roger Owens, Harold Henson, Samuel Buchanan and Joseph Jones  
KNOWN CRIMINAL PRINCIPALLY IN  
ARKANSAS, MISSOURI AND TEXAS.**   
**$200 each and one-fourth of the Treasure recovered will be paid for the arrest and conviction of the robbers.**

Each one of them had height, weight and facial descriptions and past criminal activity (with murder appearing multiple times) but it was the rough sketch of the four's faces, one in particular, was the reason for snatching the note from the station in Denver.

"Fold that up, I'm tired of starin' at it," Zachariah's gruff voice ordered.

Zachariah, who was aware of the coach driver's vendetta, couldn't really agree with his pursuit; to him woman were disposable hourly luxurious since he never felt the need to keep a wife around. However, the only thing the ex-Confederate could agree on— the only thing he and Aaron did— was that getting reprisal for a loved one, was a hunt worth chasing down. The only problem, was he didn't think it shouldn't be done by a kid.

The blonde orphan disagreed entirely. The sooner the cocksucker saw his end, the better he would be. His blue eyes drifted over to the Abraham whose black brimmed hat shadowed his focused his eyes on the road ahead. It was a cold stare that he was confident he could feel, even if he didn't acknowledge it. The driver's eyes always stayed ahead of the trail and on his job like a Christian's devotion during prayer.

The sonovabitch was on the trail south of theirs, attacking Wells Wagons and here they were, on the road back to Atchison without a discussion on the matter besides Black telling him to _'forgo the subject'_.

Aaron pocketed the paper and sulked into the seat the rest of the trip. There were a couple of shadows sitting on painted horses, but they didn't attack with a substantial supply of revolvers and rifles outnumbering their party 5 to 1. Still, he found himself digging in his pocket until he felt the comforting weight of the pistol in his hand.

Even though he was a poor shot, he loved that memory of Abraham teaching him how to fire—mostly because it was the first time he got to shoot anything. It was an obsession really, mainly because he was angry that he didn't manage to hit any of the bottles. He blamed the Baby Philly because when Abraham lifted his revolver and hit all the bottles from the fence ledge, he made it look as easy as if he whistling a tune. That ended up being the only shooting lesson for the longest time...

_'You're lettin' you get the better of **you**. You'll never acquire a sharp eye if you see red every time you miss the target, son.'_

_'I'm **not** your son.'_

After that, the lesson was over and every one following it always acquired a bitter aftertaste in the youngster's mouth. If Abraham felt the same, he never showed it and kept on with the lessons. However, he didn't get to shoot anything. On the trail, the driver taught him about how to breathe, aim, how wind affected the shot, how to clean it and how to follow the target. Aaron hated those _exercises_ and thought it was better to learn with a sight aimed at something. Most of the time, his words ran through one ear and out the other, however, he endured them because he needed them. After all, at least, _someone_ was making an effort for Ma.

Following the discussion at the Pond Creek station on the way to Denver City, there were no more words that were shared between the pair for the longest duration. It was a painfully awkward time, probably the roughest patch they both endured and worse than silent looks of discontent being passed to each other.

_'If ya cared about Ma, you would have shot him ages ago!'_

Abraham took more offense to that than he should have for reasons he didn't explain to the boy.

It wasn't that Abraham wasn't taking care of him, he did very well, actually. The older man kept him clothed, fed, safe, taught him how to read and even tried his best to talk to him despite Aaron ignoring him after Pond Creek. The older driver knew he wasn't happy with him, but his patience was as tenacious as a fire in a hayfield. He was certain that Aaron would forgive him. That would never happen because of one, particular reason— the only one in Aaron's mind and the thing he had thought they both had in common.

The woman he claimed he loved was not worth avenging anymore. All he seemed to care about was his coach and whatever money he could get for his troubles. Aaron should have seen it for a while now and he blamed his own ignorance. The boy should have known he wouldn't have cared about a whore. He knew how men treated the doves; he had a front row lecture to it since he was old enough to communicate and he should have know Abraham was no different no matter how much he claimed that was false.

" _Let's guarantee your pa' pays his condolences, as well."_

Aaron remembered Abraham's words well since they laid her to rest, and it was the only reason he had stayed. In truth, he was still afraid to face the blonde haired man and had hoped the stagecoach Jehu that loved his mother, would have been his Archangel's sword, sent to him to smite the wickedness that plagued his life. Now he knew that it wasn't the case.

In spite of whether Aaron wanted to believe him or not, his decision had been made after that private conference. If Abraham wasn't gonna get off his ass, then _he_ would. It was time to grown up and be a man, to take charge and settle his vendetta. Also… to leave the man who dragged him all over a trail he wanted no part of in the first place. So far, Abraham was ignorant to his plot.

After a night's rest in St. Mary's Mission, where they fed the cargo and changed the four horse team, they continued on the plains towards the end of their trip without an Indian in sight. His stormy blue eyes could have set the grass ablaze by the anger he felt coursing through his veins.

Three years since his mother was stolen from him.

Three years of being dragged along the trail under the guise of his guardian's long lost son.

Three years of daily bouts of fear along the trail without him even being allowed to protest.

Three years wasted on a false promise.

He would make sure he wouldn't lose anymore.

Whether he had Abraham's help or not.

* * *

It was night when Erron came to and with a grunt, he rubbed the back of his head with his palm as he sat upright. The fire by his feet was already beginning choke out its last slender columns of smoke as he sat himself back on the log. Bending his neck to the side and cracked it to unstiffen the bones.

Black didn't recall when he went to sleep, or even moving to lay his head against the log, but he must have needed it even though his stomach still argued with him. Gathering dry leaves and brances from the jungle floor he restarted the fire before walking towards his snare. The bug bites along his arms and the headache that pounded against his forehead wasn't enough to distract his memory from where he left the trap. Even in the jet black curtain that encompassed the rainforest, turning innocent shapes into villainous dark mirages, he could make out the outline of the small animal snagged in the loop with its neck broken. Grabbing it from its noose, he reconstructed the snare and walked back towards the glow of the fire.

It didn't take him long to skin the animal and cook it on the spit rod he constructed. The rodent quieted his hunger but it wasn't the most appetizing of things to eat even if they were in abundance. Reminded him of eating squirrel which wasn't his favorite of meat to eat.

Satisfied for the moment, he leaned his head against the log and tried to gather more sleep. There was no use hunting in the dark with the umbrella of leaves blocking the stars up above.

With his hands clasped over his stomach and roped together, he saw something glinting out of the corner of his eye. Turning, he narrowed his eyes before he reached over and grabbed the metal bullet shining at him for attention.

His thumb brushed over the bullet as he tried to recall how it got on the ground in the first place. Erron could feel the indents on the back and it came back to him; he had been carving it before he knocked out.

The gunslinger turned it over and frowned when he saw the name on the back

That's right… he had carved that name.

Spinning the bullet in his fingertips above his face, he scorned the reason, or rather _reasons_ , why he had bothered writing that name. Damn Bert, damn the girl and damn Abraham for continuing to bother him with the past. This fixation was growing exasperating and deep down, Black knew why it was. He wasn't going to shake it no matter how much he tried to think of other things or gave it the awareness it wanted to silence it for good.

It was conjured up and was going to remain until he settled what he needed to do to shut it up. That would be difficult since there was no reason to. The marksman already admitted he was eating crow for his treatment, and he showed to her he was. Erron had freed her without her demanding it or even a thanks for his efforts. So why the tenacity to keep her on his mind?

Gritting his teeth, he realized he had been wrong to compare her brush with death to his mother's demise, although they were still connected by coincidence. Like looking in a goddamn mirror. The answer was clear enough. It actually enraged him how he couldn't help but compare the similarities…

Erron was the one that was supposed to have attacked Rain— not her. She had snuffed it from him and took it upon herself. In all honesty, he understood why she looked to Bert with her real father not being the bravest or most reliable of sorts and Bert's devotion to her hadn't helped any.

He crushed the bullet in his palm and rested it in a fist against his chest. Glaring up at jungle's ceiling, he scoffed.

_Whoever is writin' this comedy_ — _I ain't laughing._

His best bets were on Abraham, and even though the mercenary wasn't laughing, he was sure that the stagecoach driver was.

_Aaron… you'll remember his face **and** his name, alright._

* * *

**Atchison, Kansas**   
**1868— A Few Months Later**

The boy regarded it as kismet— it had to be. Lady Luck had planted a kiss on his cheek that night. It was pure serendipity that if he had stopped for one second to look in the guns in the shop, he would have missed him completely.

Standing outside the glass window on the wooden walkway, he pressed his face against the transparent plane to see both Abraham and the man that shot his mother, inside the same building sipping whiskey. They weren't near each other, both men were engaged in their separate conversations with their own acquaintances, but it enraged him beyond measure that Abraham didn't see him at all! There he was— plain as day!

His denseness was unbelievable, and it was enough to want to storm in there and pummel Abraham with his fists— that was after he unloaded his gun into the man's stomach.

As he stood outside, the boy felt himself reach into his brown coat pocket and fondle his fingers around the Derringer.

_You gonna shoot me, you little shit?"_

Immediately, he thought of his mother being strangled, him holding the gun and the only thing it did was tremble in his hands and the deranged blue eyes that stared at him with the utmost malice. Sniffling back hot angry tears, he wiped his eyes with back of his brown coat-sleeve and stared back into the window. It was busy that night, with most of the crowd situated at the bar.

He could see the back of Abraham's dark hair that settled on top of the shoulders of his weathered black overcoat. Every so often, the flat brim ivory hat would tip forward before leaning back as he laughed at Zachariah's words. Both of them sat at a table by the door with half empty glasses at their fingertips, while the blonde-haired monster stood at the far end of the bar with doves and his male companions.

Aaron could tell even with the bar patrons blocking the gang, the fair-haired Curly Wolf that tried to kill him, seemed more groomed and not as crazed as his tattered and soiled clothing broadcasted he had been 2 years ago. His attire was decent, more refined and much too rich for the crude character he truly was.

Atop his head sat a fresh new gray Derby hat that looked like it was about to fall off the side of his head. Also gray, his cutaway coat hid the crisp white shirt and red tie as one of his fingertips fiddled with the gold chain of the pocketwatch tucked in the vest pocket. The other men also wore new regalia and out of the 4 of them, his bastard father dressed the most modest.

The child's teeth painfully gritted together at the sight— no doubt the Wells Fargo Wagon paid for their new wardrobe. Seeing the man he had been hunting for years, content with his life as if that night never occurred, denied Aaron of being able to smile at the thought of those fancy duds soaking up his blood from the Philly's plug.

However, even all the anger in the world couldn't sway the trepidation he felt numbing him. Summoning the memory that was the subject of most of his nightmares, he couldn't muster the gall to walk into the bar. Even now, after years of confidence that he would get the job done no matter what, lifted out of him and evaporated into the night's sky to absorb.

Aaron pulled away from the dancing ribbons of the candle and lantern light coming from inside the tavern. Concealing his shame in the dark, he crossed his arms over his chest and let his tears drop like rain on to his entwined sleeves. He couldn't understand his sudden weakness and why it balled him up. The only thing he could muster to do was fire harsh words of rebuke at himself for his cowardice. If any deserved killing it was the man inside wearing his best wardrobe that he bought with stolen money.

If anyone deserved it, it was that son of a bitch that placed a gun into his face and almost pulled the hammer back.

If _anyone_ deserved it, it was that yellow-haired slimy limey cocksucker that shot his mother!

Wiping his hands over his face, and removing all the evidence of fear he still felt within his chest, he turned back towards the window and glared inside. With his eyes darting from Abraham to his father, he quickly repaired the dwindling anger that his gutlessness tried to douse.

He wrapped his hand around the pistol in his pocket. Lifting his free hand, he opened the door and entered into the boisterously loud arena. Aaron felt his nose curl up at the repugnant odor of the tobacco fogging the air and felt his ears ring from the deafening chorus of chattering overlapping each other with the piano belting out a tune.

The boy closed the door behind him and stared into the chaotic scenery, trying to find the strength to lift his feet from the ground and move towards his mother's murderer. The circus of smell, noise and crowded bodies bumping into him, overloaded his concentration. His breath caught in his throat and no matter how many attempts he willed for it to exit, it still refused to budge.

It wasn't until he took the first step was he able to inhale. Settling his nerves for the moment, and began to slowly inch his way towards the bar; nearing Abraham's table to pass it. Sweat slicked the handle of the Derringer, and he hoped it wouldn't slip when he fired it…

A secure grip encircled his bicep, crushing briefly and painfully only to gather his attention before it slacked. Aaron knew the owner before he turned towards him, and when he saw the look in his eyes, the child felt both panic and hatred mingle in the pit of his stomach — he was unsure which emotion was stronger.

Abraham's eyes glossed over with indignation like an angry wind whipping across a frozen lake, even though the rest of him appeared as cool and collected as if he was sitting in mass. With a firm grip, he spun him so his back was facing the bar.

"Get goin', Aaron," he demanded with a sharp whisper. "I know you ain't in here to sneak a taste at the corn juice."

Zachariah watched the two of them in silence from behind the whiskey glass.

The youth's nerves flared, the driver's words setting them ablaze with hatred. His jaw clenching, he bared his teeth at him. "You're gonna let tha' cocksucker live! When he's sittin' right there!"

Unmovable as a castle wall, he never darted his eyes from him. With a stony gaze, he picked himself from this chair and began to drag him towards the door. As soon as they were away from curious eyes, he fought to get his arm out of the man's grip.

As soon as they crossed the boardwalk into the street, Black released him with a slight shove. Aaron spiraled on his heels, lost balance and landed on his rear in the dirt. A small look of remorse cruised over Abraham's indomitable demeanor before his eyes narrowed gravely at him with a warning. Lifting a finger, he pointed it at him before it ended at in the direction of the Butterfield Stagecoach Office.

"Don't think of wanderin' back," he warned lowly, dangerously before he turned on his heels and headed back towards the tavern.

"You lyin' sonovabitch! Goddamn you!"

Even with the barb Aaron stabbed at his back, Abraham's pace never faltered as he reentered the establishment. Jumping back to his feet with dirt clouds billowing around him, he grabbed the nearest rocks by his feet and threw them at the building. They only got as far as the walkway and skipped harmlessly across the boards. The lids of his eyes brimming with tears again, he let them run like acid down his face as he turned tail and returned back to the Butterfield Station. Each footfall was cumbersome as he forced them towards the office and not back towards the saloon where he knew they wanted to go.

He reached the station eventually but stopped before entering. His reflection in the glass window of the office was masked by a layer of dirt from rubbing his face after hitting the dirt. Clear lines ran down his face from the wet trails left behind due to his frustration. His small hands reached up to erase the rivers and its tributaries off his face. Nobody would know he was caterwauling, especially not Abraham when he returned. The only thing he wanted that good for nothin' to know was how furious he was with him. He denied him his one and only chance to get even and he didn't even bother to tell him why!

All of it was horseshit! Abraham never had the intention of settling the manner — it was just a show. Aaron didn't dig any deeper for why he would do it, perhaps it was to keep complacent, and was adamant in the fact that he had been swindled for three years. All this time, he thought Abraham was the one to help him get the job done. Though his previous doubts in the past months pointed to this outcome, he still didn't want to believe it and gave the bastard more months to change his mind. Turned out he had the wrong pig by the tail all along.

He was done.

Aaron could get out tonight. Get out of this damned town with the damned men that ruined his life. His father... he would find another time since the stagecoach driver was guarding the door.

Nodding his head with determination, he entered the station to collect his things. There wasn't much to his name expect the spare set of clothes and the ones on his back. The only things additional were the Harper's article, the Derringer, a deer antler knife and some one dollar bills that he swiped when nobody was looking.

Swinging the sack over his shoulder, he exited the empty station but paused when he saw Black's Butterfield stagecoach parked out in front. It would be loaded the next day and set out for the trail again. Only this time, he wouldn't be apart of it. A scowl sat on his face as he stared at the wagon. His one regret was that Abraham wouldn't be around to know just how livid he was, but with the coach sitting unattended, there was a way for him to get the message.

Dropping the bag with his clothes in the dirt, he pulled out the knife in his belt as he walked over to carriage's side door. Opening it and stepping up on the foot step to climb in, he closed the door behind him and sat in the leather seat.

Aaron bit with hesitance as he hovered the tip of the knife over the seat cushions. The importance of what the stagecoach meant to Abraham ran through his mind and made him pause. He couldn't understand it. Why was he not doing it? There was every reason to. It took him a moment, but then he realized that he knew the reason he was stalling was because he knew how low it would be. The coach was everything to him.

Abraham hadn't been all that bad to him, he still treated him right all these years...

A spark of anger ignited in the pit of his stomach when he remembered one glaring fault.

Still, he never did the _one_ thing he promised.

With a deep exhale, he pushed his anxiety from his body and set to work on the leather seats. Culling sections apart with his small knife, he ripped apart the seats. All he saw was the men he hated in those seats and when there was nothing left to trim, he was still angry. The blonde boy turned his vehement eyes towards the leather curtains that were rolled up. Sawing through the straps, he watched as the sheet unraveled down. Plunging the knife down, he left tattered keyholes in each one. Still, it wasn't enough to calm him.

In fact, the only reason he stopped attacking the carriage was because the door to the other side opened and someone grabbed him by the ankle. At first, he thought it might have been the wagon's driver, but when he was thrown out and carelessly discarded on the boarded walkway, he knew Abraham wouldn't have been so harmful to him.

The first thing he smelled was the tobacco smoke before the ensemble of snickering men above him. The well-dressed roosters of his father's gang circled around him like coyotes gazing down at a wounded rabbit. With their cigarettes between their teeth, they smiled down at him as Aaron felt a hand lift him up to his feet.

The bulbous red haired man grasped him roughly underneath the chin, bunching his skin uncomfortably as the blonde-haired man held him with an arm around his shoulders; keeping him steady.

"Why ain't he just a mirror's reflection of you, Buchanan!" he roared with mocking laughter. "No wonder yer were able to pluck him from the crowd!"

Aaron groaned as he was assaulted by the odor from his whiskey soaked hands from his face, but at least, it smelled better than his breath. As they laughed, he could smell the same residue from all of them. Buchannan, his father, moved to cup the top of his head and tousled with amusement.

"As handsome as I was at that age!" he boasted with pride. Aaron tried to worm his way out of his grasp and the red-head who still had a hand on his face. Finally, getting an idea, he raised the knife and tried to slash the back of the man's hand with it.

Buchanan grabbed his wrist and twisted it. The 7-year-old whimpered so loudly he was uncertain if he heard his bones snap or not— it certainly felt as if he had. The knife dropped after the potbellied man jumped back, retracting his hand from his face. The other two men, a willowy brunette with long hair, and stout but strong man with dark eyes as black as his thin wiry beard laughed at the red-head who growled under his breath at him.

"Don't you be doing nothin', son," threatened the blonde with almost a humored expression, his hand still clasped around his wrist. "Ain't no way to begin new friendships."

Buchanan moved to stand in front of him and felt his hand slacken as he observed him. The young child stared in disgust at him and flinched away from his touch when he patted his cheek.

"My you've grown some," he said with astonishment. However, even with his pleasant tone, Aaron could still see the resentfulness that presided in his eyes. "I been lookin' everywhere and elsewhere. I heard you were on the trails with a feller and it took me a while to catch up. I've been smiled down by providence, son! Now you'll be comin' along so you don't have ta attend with the wagon driver."

With his teeth gritted and the pain in his wrist burning he glowered at the man that spewed the poisonous words at him. If he didn't have his hand on his wrist, he was certain he would have reached down and gutted him with the knife.

"Be fucked you nancy dressed cocksucker!"

Laughter escaped all of them except the man he hurled the insult at, and for doing so, his hand left his wrist to grab the lapels of the boy's jacket. Aaron found himself shuddering under the steely eyes that could freeze the hottest of a blacksmith's fire. "You got a nerve to run your mouth off to me in such a manner, boy. Do so again and I'll paint red across your cheeks!"

"I ain't your boy!"

The angular features on his face softened the same time his hands relaxed on his jacket. "Like it or not, I'm your father. Now that I got more than dimes lining my pockets. I can start acting like one. I ain't sour with you."

The boy's eyes darkened. "Were you my father when you donated the knife to Ma's neck?!"

A thunder cloud darkened over his face as his own cyan eyes glared back in offense. "Let me tell ya somethin' about your momma. Your Ma was so crooked she'd swallow nails an' spit out corkscrews. You may think my timin' was ill, but even a broken clock can get the time right at one point. My actions were proper settlement for the wrongdoing down upon me by your ma."

"You're nothing but filthy road-agent cocksucker!" the young boy seethed as he reached into his pocket.

Before he could grab the handle of the pistol, the older blonde's hand came up and backhanded him across the face. His teeth cracked together painfully as he sailed to the side with a cry. Pushing his hands against the boardwalk, he sniffled at the pain that exploded all along his jaw.

"You were told about that crude talk at me, boy!"

"Shit!" called the redhead.

Aaron looked over his shoulder when he heard the sound of guns cocking. Behind the three, slinking out of the shadows of the alley between the buildings stood Zachariah with his sawed off shotgun pointed at the base of the stout man's neck. Behind the fat redhead, the Sherriff's deputy, a slim man with a round face marred and tanned by the sun kept his Winchester rifle at his back. The Sherriff himself, a silver-haired man with strands as bright and thin as a fiddle's bow strings glared from behind at the willowy brunette who already had his hand clutching around the butt of his revolver under his burgundy overcoat.

"Get your hand off your irons, son," the Sherriff ordered with an orotund voice. The brunette complied and raised his hand out of his vest as his lip flickered with contempt.

Standing tall and confident, Buchanan lifted his hands up in defense as a show of good faith he wouldn't reach for the pistol in his belt. "I'm afraid I'm blind to the reason for this disturbance. Is there a crime in disciplining my own sprout that warrants such a show of irons?"

The older man gave a scoff. "Besides layin' a hand on him for callin' what's true, the show of cannons is so you trot to jail without pitchin' a fit."

Buchanan narrowed his eyes hatefully. "For what conviction?"

Abraham's Griswold cocked at the back of the blonde-haired man's head. "Well…" the stagecoach driver shrugged with a smirk. "I think you can talk to Wells Fargo about the conviction."

The tip of Abraham's barrel lifted the brim of the gray beaver hat. "Nice Derby, but it don't belong to you I think."

"I didn't know you were using bounty hunters, Sheriff," Buchannan shot as his eyes slid in Black's direction.

"Actually, I just drive the ponies for the wagon you skinned," was Abraham's blasé response. His eyebrows darted up as a sardonic chuckle left him. "The pay is only compensation for the slaughter to my seats and curtains."

"Blame the damage done to your coach on account of the little shit you been hauling around," Buchanan retorted acidly. Abraham's brows bridged into a hard line. The road agent gave a bitter chuckle at the drivers' expense. "That's right, I know you had my boy. Keep him then, but he won't provide warm thoughts about what was never yours to being with."

"They were never your's either, otherwise she and him would have never of been _mine_ in the end," Abraham condescended with a dark tone. Grabbing him roughly by the back of the collar, he dug his pistol into the back of his neck. "If I were weaker, she'd already be tellin' you that herself — if you weren't already goin' straight to Hell by sunrise."

"I'll meet you there soon enough," Buchanan growled.

"Get ta movin'," the Sherriff barked.

As if he was as familiar as a Bible in a church, Aaron had been ignored the entire time. Though he was thankful that the men had showed up when they did, the boy was still crestfallen at what had just happened. Aaron felt less than satisfied seeing him carted to jail instead of having his head blown off which is what he thought what Abraham was going to do when he placed his revolver to the back of his skull. Why didn't he?! His opportunity was set out in front of him and he had openly refused it! He had promised he would kill him— why wasn't he?!

Was he the only one that actually cared to see his mother's murderer given his much long overdue reward for that night? Buchannan had called him a bounty hunter, was money the only thing that meant anything to Abraham?!

With the men already heading towards the Sherriff's office, towing the gang with guns aimed at them, Aaron stood up to see Buchannan flash a dirty look at him. Abraham, who had him by the back of the collar, turned to see who he was staring at, before giving him a hard shove with his gun into his neck. The driver looked back at Aaron, gave a nod to beckon him to follow them.

How dare that son of a bitch tell him what to do! After every promise he went back on! Aaron stormed behind them, trying to pump his shorter legs to catch up with them. A cascade of burning hot tears ran down his face as he dug his fingers into his pocket for the Baby Philly.

_"Whore! Cunt! You left me for this? To spread legs for any Jayhawker lookin' to spend a bit!"_

_"Are you even mine or the bastard of another man's fuck?"_

_"You gonna shoot me, you little shit?"_

The spiteful words from that night echoed so loudly in his head that they could have made his ears bleed. Bouncing like voices in a canyon, it was the only thing he could think of, that and Abraham's unforgivable betrayal to him. No other man would have done what he was doing and if the Aaron was going to be the only one crazy enough to fight a rattler to get the first bite, then so be it.

"Take THAT, goddamn you!"

All he saw was a blur as he cocked the hammer back, and the briefest of seconds, he thought he was aiming at the wrong person. Regardless, he pulled back the trigger with clammy and trembling hands. The Derringer bucked harshly in his hands and the gunfire made him almost jump out of his shoes, but not as much as the men who whirled around in the direction of the shot.

As if it was some an overdramatic actor on a stage, Buchannan was propelled forward as if someone had hit him squarely in the back. At first, Aaron thought that was all the bullet had done before a dark spot formed right under his left shoulder blade, further northwest to where he was aiming at. Buchanan groaned, clutched the spot over his chest before his knees buckled forward and he landed face first in the dirt.

As he lay there, gurgling out his last breaths of life, Aaron watched it all with morose horror. The weight of his actions barreled down upon him as both the outlaws and the lawmen looked down at him with shock. The measure of alarm expressed at him was minuscule in comparison to what he felt internally. Aaron gulped as he lowered the smoking gun, the tiny firearm feeling as heavy as a bag of horseshoes.

Under the cold sheets of sweat that covered his pale face, the child felt his lip tremble with trepidation. He had killed a man… he had shot man in the back. He has shot his own _flesh and blood_ in the back…

Where was the instant contentment that he was supposed to be given after committing his heinous deed? Where was the gratification in seeing him lying in his own blood like his mother had? Why was there such an immense hollowness in his chest as he stared at the man he hated and had killed?

The first to succumb out of the stupor was Zachariah, who glimpsed at Abraham with a worried and remorseful expression. The driver looked about as dead as the man he was looking down at, before his eyes connected with Aaron's. They boy shivered under his stare. It was the only time Abraham had ever regarded him with such an abhorrent demeanor. The Griswold at his side wobbled against his thigh as his knuckles turned white around the handle. He was madder than any man he had seen, and the look he bestowed upon him, was enough to scare away a whole tribe of charging Cheyenne. That look alone was sufficient to convey to Aaron that he had committed a most unforgivable transgression — he just couldn't understand what it was.

The Sherriff, who had walked over to him, grasped the boy softly under the arm and let out a disheartened sigh: "C'mon along, son."

Aaron knew where he was being led to, even if he knew it would be an iron birdcage all to himself. Zachariah came forward and replaced the Sherriff's hand around his arm; he winched at the pressure he applied. The Shotgun Messenger turned to Black, who was the only one who hadn't lifted his feet from the ground.

"Abraham…" Zachariah called out. The driver gave no response that he had even heard him; his eyes still cast down at the body before him.

Zachariah grumbled and pulled Aaron along, all the while with the boy's thoughts in a hurricane of confusion about what was going on. Perhaps he saw the battle in his eyes, or maybe he was just enraged at his actions as well, but Zachariah yanked his arm to garner his attention.

"Is that a bluff boy, or can you really not discern the precarious nature of your fuckin' folly?" Zachariah fumed.

Aaron hissed heatedly though his teeth at him: "Abraham wasn't gonna kill him, so I did! I did what he should have done!"

Zachariah shook his head irately at him. "He _had_ killed him. Your Pa' was gonna be hung he next day for dispatchin' the driver of the Wells carriage— not to mention robbin' it! That's why we brought out the Sherriff to see that it would be conducted. He had always planned to kill him with a noose, not a pistol."

The retort he planned beforehand vanished with the seasoned older man's avouchment. Aaron stared at him with perplexity, as if he had spoken a foreign tongue to him. Zachariah could see his disorientated mug and leaned down at him like a hawk with a field mouse. "By planting brass in his back, you just secured the noose around yer own neck in his place."

There weren't enough words that could render how stupid and afraid he felt when he listened to the reveal of Abraham's plot. The biggest emotion, out of the many that were hard to decipher, the ire for having it withheld from him was the most sinking. Even that encompassed the fear of being taken to the cell at the moment. Swimming through his rippled thoughts, he was able to fish out the only question he needed to ask.

"Why?"

"Because Abraham didn't want'cha in the mess," Zachariah answered. "And still ye found a way to get shit on your hands. Black had every animus for your Pa, Hell, Abraham was more of a Pa to you from what I've seen! You ruined that man's requital for your mother and life he had set forth for you with the money we be collectin'."

His declaration was as brutal as his tone and Aaron felt every sting he intended. The heaviness of his shame was indescribable and he wanted nothing but to bury himself in the earth for the worms to eat. There was still hard feelings about the information that went unspoken, because if Abraham had bothered to tell him, then he would have withheld from pulling the trigger and executing what he was regretful of now. However, there was also remorse about how he had unknowingly sabotaged Abraham's form of justice. The more he thought about it, the more cowardly and dirty he felt. The man that had adopted him, brought him in from being alone in the world, and had constructed a way to have their hands unsoiled. He had planned it to finish their unsettled business after all, in a more honorable and patient method. More so than the bluntness of just pulling the trigger and ending his miserable life.

Aaron looked over his shoulder towards the brimmed black hat that hung towards the ground and saw a disconsolate look enter his eyes when he looked up to meet his. There wasn't anger, which he would have welcomed more than comfortless solemn watching the boy heading towards the jail. The child for the first time in years saw someone who looked at him as if they gave a damn what happened to him.

Beneath the depths of his roughened exterior, there was anguish starting to rise from underneath. Worry about what would happen to him. Aaron realized how much effort he had put forth for him and his mother. With diligence.

Aaron had been wrong about him, he did still care and wanted to make sure that Buchannan knew it was him that was the reason for the rope around his neck.

Now, they both wouldn't be able to gloat as they should have. They would have both watched as he was strung up for all the crimes he did, not just the slight against them.

It was worse than just getting quickly shot.

Aaron had made a terrible mistake…

* * *

Erron Black had no more remorse about shooting his father that dusty night in Atchison; the nightmares stopped sometime after Abilene years later even though he thought back on it from time to time. After that night, things did change with Abraham but he could never understand was if it was because Erron or Abraham had. It was a subject that never went mentioned again after the affair and every time it did get brought up it, all it did was leave them both embitter for the rest of the day.

For the first time in decades, why did he force himself to request to remember it? It meant nothing to him like it was someone else's story vaguely told to him around a campfire. It was a rough stone he had worked out of his shoe for a while now.

That boy was long forgotten until now, and it would have been better if he had remained so.

Standing up and placing the name of the bullet towards him on the log, the gunslinger took a couple of long paces forward until he was an adequate distance away from it. With it gleaming at him and with no desire to place the damn bullet back in his belt, Erron lifted his right revolver from his holster and obliterated the bullet with his own from the chamber.

There was no grunt of pride for hitting his target. Instead, he silently turned his back and continued on his way through the jungle as the first morning's light tried to stab its way through the canopy.

Leaving the only evidence of the bullet with the name **AaRon** **Buchanan** littered in shrapnel on the ground of the Outworld jungle.


	20. Chapter 20

** Chapter 20 ** **  
Once Upon A Time in The West  
Part 2  
 _Raindrops_**

* * *

Erron began construction of a temporary shelter after tiresome hours of hiking and after the first crack of thunder rumbled through the jungle. It was fast but efficient, and he was glad he decided to bring the Tarkatan blade instead of his rifle. However, he laid under the A-line tent with a sour disposition crossing over his features as he unclasped his leather mask. Any hope of finding the Edenian's footprints vanished as soon as the heavy rain loudly collided against the emerald palm leaves hanging over his head.

He shuffled his body weight as he felt water start to soak into the back of his pants. It didn't take him long to construct his shelter; there was plenty of young tree growth nearby for rope and plenty of branches to tie them with into the skeleton for his roof to place the foliage on, but he still wished he was able to find drier leaves for his bedding.

Hiding under his angled roof of tree branches and leaves, Erron reached above his head and adjusted the fern above his hat until the keyhole was covered. As soon as the _'patter'_ of water escaping through the cracks stopped bouncing off his hat, he decided to remove it and smooth back his hair.

Lifting his knees towards his chest, he sighed as began to remove his silver shin guards and unraveled the laces of his boots. He felt the muscles in his arms tighten when he felt a small chill slide down his skin but still he worked his numbed fingers to remove his leather boot.

As soon as he pulled his gray sock off, he let out a grumble of disappointment. Erron prodded a finger at the pruning that was taking place around his cold, pale foot before he went to inspect the other foot. Trekking through mild damp conditions since he got here — serving an omen that the rainy season was near – he had a slight fear he'd be suffering from wet feet sooner or later. Unfortunately, he was right about that bet. The other foot wasn't as bad, but he placed it by the other one on the driest patch of leaves he could find. Goddamn it, he knew this was going to happen, and had hoped he would have escaped with the Edenian demi-god in custody before the rain started. Placing his socks and brown boots near to dry, he leaned back and glanced up at the ceiling of his slippery green shelter.

Adjusting his neck against the rock halfway buried underneath his pile of leaves, he flinched every time a persistent droplet managed to weave through the layers. He moved the large petals above his head until it was just the cold that hit him. Crossing his arms over his chest, trying to horde his body heat, he spent his time counting the veins on the tropical leaves; tracing their irrelevant paths to try and make the seconds fade. Eventually, the leaves and tied checkered branches above him failed to hold his attention so Erron opted for placing his hat against his face to at attempt to get some sleep while he was forced to take refuge.

Sleep evaded no matter how forcefully he reached for it; only managing to graze it with his fingertips and he let out a heated exhale through his nostrils in irritation. He was too damn tired and ironically he couldn't sleep because of it.

The mercenary flexed his overworked feet and thankfully started to feel his spongy skin starting to dry. With nothing interesting coming to mind to ponder on — and ignoring the bitter vexatious subject that _wanted_ to be reflected on — he distracted himself by listening to the raindrops hit the green like the pellets from a shotgun cascading down a tin roof. The sound hypnotized him and slowly he felt his eyes glaze over...

Thunder roared with an unwelcome crash close to where he was and woke him out of his stupor. Black lifted his hat up with a single, tired finger and rolled his eyes as he looked over at the veil of stone colored clouds cemented over the afternoon sun in the distance. By the look of it too, they weren't going to be disappearing anytime soon. Black made an effort for rest again, but he could never get close to it with the ear shattering boom that quaked the trees. Cold and partially wet, there wasn't much for him to do except wait for the storm clouds to pass by so he could look for his cohort.

Black knew Reptile wasn't far; he had passed by a pile of lime green tinted skin to large to belong to any other undressed snake. Knowing the Zaterran, he would most likely call off the hunt in favor for returning when conditions improved; he knew how much he despised hunting in the rain. The scent that clung to the vegetation was washing away now, along with any tracks Rain left behind. On top of it, without the sun providing him warmth, there was the likelihood of growing sickly the longer he was exposed. Unless he was already dragging Rain by his ankles, it was fruitless now to keep looking for him.

He sighed heavily at the thought of leaving without a prize, and in doing so, made him feel he was neglecting himself out of a payday; but it wouldn't do them any good if the weather got to them before they got to Rain. The guards both knew better. They would have to look for Rain another time — preferably when they had a better lead. After the rainfall, he would collect him, and they would make their way back to the palace.

Thoughts of the Emperor's Palace caused his stomach to worm, not because he was expecting a Kotal to withhold his generous bounty until the Edenian was found, but because he knew he would have a chore once he got back that he wasn't looking forward to.

His upper lip curled up with indignation — he had forgotten about the contract with Tama for the girl, and frankly, after an exhausting week, the gunslinger wasn't exactly thrilled when he remembered he still had to deal with her once he returned to Z'unkaharah. At least what slightly comforted him, was knowing how cheerless she would be to see his face as much as Erron would be to see hers.

Tama _could_ spare him the trip and have it wrapped in a red bow outside his door for him, but knew it was not going to happen no matter how many coins he tossed into that wishful thinking well. Erron let out a small _'hmpf'_ at the unlikely possiblilty of that. Tama wouldn't miss the opportunity to spew venom at him for her burden no matter how much she loathed him.

Black reached up and pulled his hat down over his eyes again. It was funny, he actually hadn't thought back on the contract until now, but soon came to the realization that in order to get rid of the nameless girl forever, he was going to have to make sure the contract's owner legally signed it over to him.

A small smirk crossed his face.

_Nothing a bullet can't fix._

His eyebrows knitted together as he let out a disgruntled sigh.

At least, that was what he would make her _believe_.

Tama was certainly lower than him in terms of status, but the Kahn's employee wasn't willing to lose a percentage of his pay no matter how much of she deserved the bullet. The female Outworlder still had importance in the palace, especially since she was the one who owned who made their dinner. Killing her without a just cause would have repercussions, even if he was a Kahn's guard. He needed his reasons, and he knew a fight over a bread girl— a slave— wasn't going to suffice.

Black had an inkling the older woman knew that as well. He exhaled out his nose. Tama wasn't going to make it easy, and he had a bad feeling that forcefully removing her servant might have provoked her to think of some crafty retaliation.

Erron chuckled softly to himself. Hopefully, she wasn't _so_ resentful and did something stupid to his food. Then not even Kotal Kahn would be against carving her name in a bullet. Black hoped she was that stupid.

_Don't ask so eagerly. Wasn't exactly happy about what you did._ A voice cautioned. He scoffed, blowing air across the bottom of his hat brim. _She's lucky I didn't make good on my 'promise'._

As furious as Tama was, he didn't have any doubt that she wouldn't hand the contract over to him and sign it over — no doubt with another demonstration of forceful persuasion on his part. That left the other, unpleasant errand afterwards and under his closed lids, he rolled his eyes. He despised the thought of it and would have endured weekly meetings with Tama chewing his ear off as a substitute.

Black would have to deliver the contract _in person_ to the servant girl.

In truth, he didn't really have to. He could have somebody carrier it over to her at the old lantern lighter's house, but he knew that wouldn't get rid of the nagging doubt of being certain if she got it or not. It was for his sake, not hers and he hoped it would quell the thought if they screwed up and she never got it— that would mean she be coming to visit him for it.

Plus, it was also a way to get her to at least get her to express _some_ gratitude and to show that he had been serious. It was obvious that she suspected it to all be a masquerade, and when he passed it over to her, maybe she express some goddamn gratitude.

The acknowledgment that he somewhat _wanted_ thanks jarred him— confused the hell out of him. He pinched the bridge of his nose under his hat and huffed.

Why did he care about the whether she forgave him or not? He had done his good deed. Was it because he was just antsy to get it done and over with so he could get rid of her? Another theory was maybe it was his own ego jabbing him suggestively in the rib, trying to persuade him to get another victory over the irritating bread maker that got on his nerves. He knew that wasn't it though, no matter how much he wanted to believe in that petty reason.

Trying to push it out of his thoughts, he adjusted himself over the bed of brown leaves and crossed his ankles. Erron certainly hoped once he was done his remorse would finally grant him the reprieve he desired. For right now, though, in the middle of a rainstorm, not even the repetitive drowning noise of water cascading heavily around him could distract him from the voice that spoke over it all.

_You only feel bad about it because she didn't want to go with you in the first place._

_So what? I still got her out, didn't I?_

_True. Still doesn't mean she asked for it. You did it because that's what you thought **she** wanted, but you know it was just what **you** wanted._

Erron crossed his arms and clenched his fists as he shifted; resenting the statement.

_Who cares? She wanted to get free, and she got it. I apologized, she threw it back at me. I even pulled her friend out and walked them to the old man's house. All this without a damn thanks._

_Why would she have **any** reason to thank you in the first place?_

Black grinded his teeth under his closed mouth, causing a twinge of pain along his jaw when he realized his fault: the argumentative voice in his head that was clearly on her side, was right.

_"I want for you to stop pretending as if you are doing me any favors. You are not helping me; you are doing this because you think this will erase your cruelty towards me. You are too late for your rescue or any act of kindness you pitifully show to mean anything. You forsake that opportunity at the tavern. This changes nothing!"_

The mercenary sighed heavily. Yes. He did have something to gain. He wanted her gone— removed from his conscious, out of his sight and his debt paid; the one he had grown and unknowingly shackled to himself with every word and action she still held over him. Rightfully so, when he reflected on how he had been somewhat cruel to her when she was assigned to serve him at dinner, but he knew the callous words fired at her would leave in time. Besides, he had worse faults than belittling words.

Collecting her for Tama to enslave, which he had no idea why at the time, for money, was inexcusable when he put himself in her shoes. Black couldn't blame her for holding that against him, even if he had been ignorantly doing his job.

The mercenary inhaled deeply and sighed with sour abashment.

His biggest transgression though, the one that topped them all, was still walking out that day and not choosing to aid her. If he had just spared a bullet, a brief second of his time and shot the bastard that slapped her in the doorway in the back of the head, none of this would have befallen upon him. None of this tedious labor to undo what a few seconds could have spared him if he had chosen to act. He didn't. A million times he had run that through his head, and knew it like the back of his hand as if it was stamped there. Why didn't he just shot him?

Rubbing his temple with his fingers, he grimaced at the headache that had suddenly formed.

_Human? Are you anymore?_

Erron Black wasn't a stupid man or a mindless attack dog at Kotal Kahn's every instruction, but he was accustomed to being indifferent. That didn't mean he was always unsympathetic— there were times he could be reasonable, but in regards to people, he found that emotion to be obsolete when it came to doing his job.

For the longest time, there hadn't been a single person outside of his own personal interests that had caught his attention. The people of Outworld were ants under his boot heel; all of them were as insignificant as they were untrustworthy and onerous. It had taken him a while to understand that the only thing he needed to do was worry about _his_ needs. Turned out it wasn't people that got him what he needed, but the gold that filled his pocket. So, he ignored everyone else. It had been that way for decades, so why was this particular ant so hard to crush from his sight?

Again, he blamed Bert for that and his accusation, but he didn't need to prove that to a baker and an old, deceased Earthrealmer. So why was it still on his mind?

Maybe it was the cold way Bert had said it. Or how he seemed so confident about his observation of him that it came across more as a truthful insult.

It almost sounded like a challenge; a dare that he couldn't root up his basic human benevolence anymore. That he was incapable of acting like anything else but a cold, obtuse pawn used at Kotal's will. He knew better. Erron was only apathetic because it was easier to get his job done. The marksman nudged at the question more; dissecting to see if there was something else that Bert was trying to tell him— he knew he never meant one just thing with his words. Whatever it was, the answer wasn't coming to him easily.

Black rubbed his eyes under his hat and crossed them back over his chest, trying to block the cold air. Perhaps he was mulling too heavily over the scathing words of one ex-convent and a bread-kneading nobody because he was bored. Regardless if he was or not, he managed to expose why she hadn't given him gratitude for his actions.

_You are not helping me; you are doing this because you think this will erase your cruelty towards me._

Erron could deny the statement all he wanted; curse at it, scorn it for its stupidity and its overly maudlin tone, but the truth was that in her perspective, he really had just done it for him/ There was a reason she hadn't thanked him because she knew it too. Maybe that was what she was trying to channel to him with her look of hatred before they went their separate ways.

The look in her jaded green eyes had silently informed him she could see past his helpful façade. Not even with him dragging her friend with them, which had just did as a method to show her he was being serious about helping her, she knew that he was still putting his intentions first. The slave girl knew it was a false show of sympathy towards her and the only reason he figured out how she could know that was because Bert had been right. He wouldn't have been trying to prove he could show her some humanity, if it had just done it from the start. Erron would have to do more than provide one example for anyone to start reconsidering their negative view of him.

The ex-Earthrealmer banged his head slightly against the rock under his skull. This horseshit was never going to end. This entire sappy dilemma would never grant him peace unless he got her to forgive him. His guilt was never going to subside unless she believed his efforts. Then he would stop constantly rebuking himself.

There was no other solution, and he knew there was no way to coerce the notion out of his mind. For the longest time, he had always gone by simplistic ways to deal with what he needed for the quickest results. At this moment, he truthfully couldn't think of a single action he could do that would allocate to a speedy and painless conclusion. Just killing her wouldn't offer reprieve like it did for him in the past when someone crossed him— which ironically, was yet another thing he did to her that he would have to make up for as well. Understandably, she did not seem to have enjoyed his midnight visit to her room.

The only problem was, with her presence not as easy to bump into at the palace, it would be on his own time. Slowly and delicately, and since Erron knew nothing about her, didn't even know where in the hell to start.

It was thin ice in all directions, but he knew it would be worth it if he could make her move on— then he could. There was no other alternative, and Erron Black of all people knew how quickly moods and perceptions could change when an apology was granted.

* * *

**Atchison, Kansas**   
**1868**

For the most part, it had been quiet in the Sheriff's Station. The three men of Buchanan's gang had been swiftly dealt with for their crimes and from what Aaron could overhear was that it didn't take long for the jury to find them guilty; faster than blinking an eye. At least, that was what Aaron thought he had overheard from the discussion taking place outside of his cell bars. In all honesty, he didn't pay much attention to any of it, because even he knew that whether in the hands of the court filled with nothing but educated carpetbaggers or clueless miners, they were already dead before the gavel hit. Besides, it was his own neck was what he was concerned about, even if Zachariah told him not to be.

The boy had been imprisoned in the cell for three days or so, but it was honestly it was hard to judge since most of the time he tried napping to past the time. If he wasn't sleeping, he was eavesdropping on what the Deputy and his Sherriff were discussing. Most of it was useless, but every so often he would catch a sliver of information on what was to become of him. Connecting the puzzle pieces, Aaron was able to figure out why he was still in the cell and hadn't been placed in a courtroom by the time dawn broke out the first day.

Simply, it was because they couldn't find anyone that wanted to send a 7-year-old boy to the noose. Sure, there were people that wanted to watch the trial, just not any that wanted to participate and have his death on their conscious. It was easy to send grown men who were murderers and road agents to the gallows, but a boy with his life still ahead of him and an understandable reason for what he did, people would have rather picked up an angry rattlesnake then be apart of the jury.

It really was as simple as Zachariah had said: _'No jury is gonna send a kid to swing. Just keep your trap shut until after we settle this.'_

For once, he decided to trust Zachariah's advice, although he was still hesitant that he would be allowed to walk free so simply.

That had been a couple of days ago and since then, Zachariah had stayed around to keep him company despite neither of them said a word to each other. With nothing but the odor of pine and iron to distract him from his boredom, Aaron couldn't help but feel that Shotgunner's words starting to carry as much weight as a bag of feathers.

Abraham hadn't been by at all, and he was thankful because he wouldn't have been able to look at that cowardly bastard without wanting to gouge his eyes out. Besides the Sheriff, who regarded him like a mouse with a hole in the wall, the deputies glanced his way with abnormal judgment reflected in their eyes. They either pitied him or saw him as a demon using the visage of an innocent child. Aaron didn't want then to think of him in either regard; it was insulting no matter which opinion it was. Still, he didn't care what any of them thought, because, in the end, none of it really mattered.

He had been lied to— tricked; used as a pawn in Abraham's revenge. Perhaps the only reason he even dragged him along all these years was because Aaron was the only one that could identify his father. His mother never went by the name Buchannan and all this time he thought his name was Aaron Bleyer. Now he wasn't even certain if that was a false moniker.

All he knew about himself was that he was a young killer with no last name. Aaron hadn't shed any tears about it; that man was nothing to him and he would have shot him again given the opportunity. Maybe that was _why_ they all looked at him like any other villain awaiting a verdict. He very much felt like one, since he had been given anything close to satisfaction about what he had done. Aaron was unsure if he was supposed to be feeling this hollow. If anyone that killed another person was supposed to feel as empty as he did right now. Was it what happened to everyone? If it was, he wished that somebody would at least tell him, so he didn't have to question if his despondency was normal or not.

The boy huffed hotly into his flat pillow. What was wrong with him? He had never seen any of the soldiers give a damn when they fired at the Indians. He had even seen a man gutted with a knife for having the wrong cards— the man holding the bowie hadn't seemed distressed about what he had done.

Maybe it all had to do with the difference in age how you dealt with seeing someone killed: the older you were, the easier and common it was. If experience was the case, though, why was he still feeling as if he was sitting in a confessional booth with an austere priest that looked upon him with nothing but contempt? Aaron had seen plenty of death already. There had been death all along the trail; he had seen bodies strewn up for bonfires with the natives that strung them up whooping and hollering with a victory. He had seen men's body parts in a breadcrumb trail along the tail grass. The young boy had even watched as a man was scalped on a faraway hill with the Cheyenne making sure that his white brethren saw him kicking and screaming.

There was the possibility that it could have been because he had bloodied his hands for the first time. He remembered a phrase the soiled doves had used when they spotted a man younger than them — he was no longer 'cherry.' It was his first time, and the first time was always messy. He supposed, killing, like anything in repetition, would get easier in time... but there wasn't any desire to even want to do it again.

Laying his head down on the pancaked and soiled mattress resting on top of the metal bedframe chained to the wall, he curled his legs to his chest and turned towards the wood. Every time he slept, he was always rewarded with some convoluted nightmare. The last night had been the worse: he was being dragged by the current as he struggled to keep his head above the bloody waves he was being carried off in. In each dream, there was always a wolf, yellow-haired and menacing and this time, he watched him from ashore. In one dream, he carried a rope between his fanged jaws as Aaron shot at him with Abraham's Griswold.

The Sheriff's attempts to get him to eat anything ended up making him feel sick. There was no appetite, and the food tasted like ash in his mouth when he forced himself to swallow it down. In fact, the only thing he did have the energy to do, but couldn't, was run away as far as his legs would carry him.

The orphan felt a tear run down his red, blistered face; scratched raw by the tears that came before the lonely drop. Even if he did run, where was he supposed to go? Aaron didn't know anyone in Kansas, he would never get through Indian territory alive, and what did he have waiting for him in the East? He had no family. Abraham was no kin of his, nor would he even consider him a friend at this point anymore. The truth was, he was alone, and he would always be.

Maybe it was better that way. Aaron could abide by his own rules, do whatever he wanted and wouldn't need to answer to anyone. The loneliness could be the freedom he had longed for. He wouldn't be lugged around like luggage from way station to another. No longer would he be viewed as a burden and he didn't have to explain himself to anyone, or step lightly to avoid angering somebody that held fraudulent authority over him.

That was how he had felt most of the time with Abraham. He only listened to him because he was stronger, older and thought he had Aaron's best interests in mind. It turned out, he was as big of a son of a bitch as the man who sired him was. It was almost ironic, almost as if someone was pulling his strings along in a cruel puppet show, but he actually felt more bitter about Abraham lying to him than killing his own father.

Aaron had trusted, let him take care of him and allowed him to drag him all over God's dangerous fucking earth because of his job. The stagecoach driver took the time to teach him how to shoot, hunt, read and treated him with patience. His father had quickly manifested his lack of composure the moment he backhanded him. Abraham had never even threatened to raise a hand even when he provoked him with more than words.

Aaron felt a smile involuntarily twitch on his face when he remembered Abraham holding his hand, helping him control the backfire of the Derringer so it wouldn't leap out of his hand a second time. It didn't, and it had helped him feel more confident. The more he thought about it, he had always been stern, authoritative, but never dominating or used his strength the get Aaron to do anything or think a certain way. The older man never talked back to him unless he needed to say something he strongly opposed regarding their never-ending colliding opinions on matters.

Besides their differences, Abraham in the grand scheme of things approached him as if he was his flesh and blood, even if Aaron never saw him as nothing more than a guardian he was forced to be attached to.

However, that didn't expunge what he had done. Abraham had withheld the plot he had designed without any input or consideration about how it would make him feel. Aaron had thought they had the same agreement at heart: to shot the cocksucker the moment they crossed paths with him. Instead, he never revealed it to him. It was deceitful and made him feel as if his help wasn't even worth asking for.

The other matter was, Abraham knew how much he wanted to kill his father, but refused to let him aid him. It made him feel worthless, unneeded and nothing but a stooge. Also, he was uncertain if Abraham had used him as bait or not; a distraction in order for them to skulk inside of the building's alleys. Why didn't Abraham just put his trust in him?

_"Because Abraham didn't want'cha in the mess and still ye found a way to get shit on your hands."_

Zachariah's words just made him angrier and resentful. He would have listened! If he had just told him what his idea was, he would have gone along with it! All he had to do was sit him down and explain what he wanted to do. It was a good plan; it left them out of the clutter that the law would have tried to bury them under. Why didn't he just tell him, goddamn it — he wouldn't have shot the sonovabitch if he had known what was going on!

Aaron scowled. This was all of Abraham's fault — not his. The driver was the one that had secured the noose around his neck. He was going to die because of Abraham.

He heard the hinges on the door swing open before the heavy footfalls across the floorboards. Aaron didn't turn around, but knew it had to Abraham by the way he stalked in with reluctance in his pace. Zachariah, who was already inside of the station playing solitaire with his worn set of cards across the table with the young, asleep Deputy.

"Did you persuade him at short notice?" by the trace of humor in his tone, Aaron knew it was a rhetorical question.

Aaron heard Abraham let out a glum sigh. "Couldn't spare time on the clock to see me."

The orphan heard Zachariah click his tongue. "Why would he? He's the governor and yer nothin' but a sentimental idiot with nothin' but 100 dollars and a silver timepiece to offer as a bribe. I told you to pass it up and leave it to the delicate sensibilities of the jury."

"I don't wanna risk—"

"You ain't— and you don't need to aim for thoroughness for victory," he sternly countered.

Abraham had no response, and with that, he heard the older Confederate remove himself from his chair. "They should be sortin' it out soon. I'll go buy some onions, then. Would you like some? Make it harder on them with you weeping like a fresh widow."

The driver didn't answer and instead patted him on the shoulder with a friendly slap. The boy felt his stomach clench, like someone punched him, when he realized he was left alone with him — well besides the snoring man with a star on his lapel.

Aaron glued his eyes to the wall, narrowing his them as he tightened his fingers harshly around the bedding. A hot puff of hair escaped out his nose when he heard the stagecoach driver nudge awake the Deputy with a kick of his boot.

"I'd like to talk to him," he told him as the younger man jumped awake mid-snore. The boy heard him suck in his drool with a sharp, haggard inhale of breath before he tiredly tried to refuse with mumbled, sleepy words.

"Lock it behind," Abraham told him. "I'll stay in till you feel up to lettin' me loose."

Aaron felt his blood boil, and he silently hoped that the Deputy would listen to his own laziness and decline. However, his heart sank when he heard their feet saunter towards the cell door, open it after a quick jingle of the keys, and close it.

Abraham and Aaron remained as mute and still as rocks, both of them waiting it seemed for the lawman to fall back asleep in his chair— which didn't take long.

He felt his nails dig harder into his palms with enough pressure to draw pain across his flesh. The boy closed his eyes and tried to feign sleeping, hoping to avoid the talk he obviously wanted to engage with him in. Aaron could feel his presence in the jail with him like an unwanted ghost haunting him. He could feel his eyes at the back of his head and as furious as he was, couldn't will himself to remove himself from the mattress and pummel Abraham as hard as he could.

"I know you're awake, Aaron," he announced, causing Aaron to grind his teeth in irritation. "We have a discussion we need to get done and over with."

"I don't wanna talk about anything with you, you gutless bastard!" he seethed through clamped teeth. "You're the reason why I'm here!"

The angry child heard the older man's dirty nails scratch against the back of his neck before he admitted: "That's the truth and no doubting it."

He swore his ears were playing tricks on him and instead of the enraged expression that had been on his face previous to Abraham's admission, it relaxed into a flabbergasted look that the wall was the only one privileged to see.

Aaron still held on to his bitterness— the older man was right that it was his fault— but it was the first time Abraham had ever admitted to being wrong to him. Never once had he heard him confess anything that sounded like an apology. Even though he was patient, he was also proud and always restrained himself; choosing only to allow it show it silently in his eyes.

Walking over to the bed he felt his body roll towards Abraham's back as he sat by his feet. Aaron glanced over his shoulder with a skeptical stare and saw the man leaning his hat towards the ground with heavy remorse. He looked grief-stricken, as if he was staring down at a funeral casket with every mistake he had ever committed was written on the lid.

"I thought I could offer a better man to you," he began in a downtrodden whisper, his voice heavy. "I failed to deliver."

The boy turned his back from the wall, instead, he kept his attention on the weathered black wool coat he wore; staring between his shoulder blades as he continued with is disclosure: "I spent a lot of nights thinking about doing what you did to your Pa, that the happy, easy promise of it granted me sleep once I shut my eyes. That was before I started thinking more about the impression I would leave if I had done so."

The boy's ears perked with interest even though a frown grew on his face. Abraham lifted his hat off his head and held it in his lap with a heavy sigh.

"I've cut men in half with a sword and watched them crawl away with their insides dragging behind," Abraham told him, his blue eyes dimming as if a dark cloud hovered over him. "One I followed on foot, and he cried out for his momma every inch across the grass. I don't really remember feelin' nothing about it I just kept on with the next one in blue. My horse went lame, and I had to go on foot with the others for a while. The men I shot and killed, I used to carve on my rifle the number I killed before that lost my attention — turned out I just ended up running outta room."

Abraham shook his head as he smoothed his hair back and placed his hat on his head. "The war wasn't the first time I killed. My first was when I was close to your age. I had a friend at the home. I can't even recollect what he looked like, but his name was Charlie. He was the only one I got along with. The women at the orphanage laid hands on him more than me and most of the time he deserved getting the cane more than he did the hand, but I fear there was more going on as well. Unnatural... I was the only friend he had. Eventually, we were promised to folks we had never met. We didn't even reach them. Charlie always convinced me that we didn't need anybody — we could figure out the world ourselves. He was older than I was and I was too young and foolish to disagree."

Aaron kept quiet, wondering what the point of telling him all this was.

"We were on our own, without the eyes of older folks bearing down on us. There was a farm with enough food for us to steal without them noticing. I was cold, but I was alive and in the woods — couldn't be happier. Charlie was the one that got more bored than I and ran off looking for ways to pass the time. His favorite was to take it out on the farm animals a few miles beyond the pines we were squatting at. At least, that was what he told me. I thought that all he was doing was lighting the horses tails on fire— just to watch 'em buck and run. I never did any of that, but understood that was _his_ type of child's play even if it wasn't mine."

The shade of blue in the older man's eyes darkened, looking as cold and gray as a tombstone maker. "He ran out of horses. There was this youngster; a boy I never saw, in the house he was jealous of, and he would jaw about it so many times to me before that I started thinking I was listening to some bird belt out its morning tune. I knew he hated that him and I always knew it was because he was sour that he knew his family."

Abraham let out a heavy sigh. "I knew he killed that boy, long before I heard his folks hollering out his name. Charlie never said, but I always knew. What scared me was that he smile every time he heard them call out his name. Not even the war do I remember being around such frightening company than when I was around him. There was something in his eyes. I got cold lookin' at them. and each time I did, I kept wonderin' if I was gonna find out what he did to that little one by Charlie doing the same to me."

Aaron sat up, his blue colored eyes wide with macabre interest. Abraham turned his body to him, a heavy aberrant seriousness enveloping his indifferent demeanor.

"We made it to Charleston, starving and tired. We managed to find some bread; it was dotted with green and white, but neither of us gave a damn - it was the only scrap we've seen in days. I gave him the bread because I knew he wasn't gonna give me a choice. I waited till his back was turned then smashed his head with a brick I had been eyeballin' nearby."

Aaron held his breath and stared wide-eyed as Abraham shook his head. "I shoved that blood-soaked half eaten loaf down my throat while he quivered at my feet and felt nothing but relief."

Aaron let out a shaky breath; there wasn't anything that he could say. He did feel slight sympathy for his story, but mostly he was just bewildered why he was telling him all this. Was it to tell him he knew what he was feeling? That he knew what it was like to kill at a young age? If that was the case, then he felt uneasy in his presence. Unlike Abraham apparently, Aaron felt worse about what he had done even though he felt his actions were justified. Abraham had felt nothing and that dragged fear down his spine.

Aaron watched as his eyes turned towards him; sensing his fearful aversion to him and clarified: "I did because I knew sooner or later, it would be me with my back turned."

Aaron studied him and swallowed; although he understood his point it still didn't sway him and Abraham could see that as well.

The driver sighed:" You see the difference between killin' someone that deserves it and somebody that doesn't, is you get chained to the ones that didn't. I don't remember what Charlie looks like anymore because I don't think he deserves to be remembered. The blues, though, the ones on that field that I didn't know. Young boys and men, cradling pictures and letters in their hands and crying out the names of their loved ones? I remember them alright, but I don't even know their names. Some even ask if I delivered the letters. Caterwauling for me to do it."

Aaron connected his brows in confusion. "Did you?"

Abraham lifted an eyebrow, surprised at the sincere, childlike curiosity of the question before he shook his head with shame. "No, Aaron."

The stagecoach driver let out a heavy sigh, nodded his head minutely and continued with a frown. "I don't reckon your momma ever told you, but after the war, when I had time to reflect on what kind of man I grew to be. Well, let's just say it was hard to work myself up to find a purpose for myself I could agree with. I don't have trouble killin' somebody who needs it, but every night I kept seeing the faces of the ones that didn't. Then I found out my purpose. I had become one of the folks that _did_ deserve killing. I couldn't see the line— it was a blur. I became what Charlie was in the end, and I spent my days waitin' and wishing for somebody with an excuse to bash my head in. Perhaps over something as simple as a bread."

The boy's features softened as his eyes hunted all over every inch of the man's face. He was still guarded, especially when he professed to him the type of man he truly was but there was hopelessness etched on his face as if he was wearing them as scars. There was also disgust - he was not proud of what he used to be.

All this time, Aaron would have never have guessed him to be the type of man that was truly apologetic about who he killed. Zachariah was in the war, fighting on the same side as Abraham, and not once did the gruff older man moan about the men he sent to fill coffins. The boy reconsidered; maybe there was a reason for their muteness. It wasn't a pleasant tale to tell, and perhaps keeping it hidden unless for dire times, to teach others lessons, was the only reason it needed to ever be presented.

Aaron could see it despite how Abraham tried to hide it with a sober mask. His blue eyes glinted down at him with heavy penance as he reflected back on every aspect of what tormented him. He was abhorrent about his past self and ashamed that he was uttering his woes out loud. It shattered the strong, steady visage of a mighty oak who didn't sway to any hard wind trying to strip his resolve. He was showing him that he was human underneath all that indomitable bark he used to guard himself with. Underneath, he was flesh and was carved with more afflictions than Aaron even thought he had.

"I thought I wasn't worthy of anybody," Abraham whispered, meeting Aaron's baffled expression. A calm, almost mournful smile flickered to his lips. "Until I stumbled upon your Ma and you."

Aaron eyes shot down to his hands in his lap and roped them together, trying to hide the angry barrage of tears that threatened to flow over the dam of his dwindling reserve. Abraham continued looking down at him, and even though the child refused to acknowledge him, he could feel the man staring down at him bereavement; looking at him as if he was standing at her grave. Even though the look pressed down on him, sinking him lower into the bed by the weight of it, he could still see a small flicker of serenity in his eyes, as if the mere memory of his mother was enough to bring him the sliver of happiness he required.

"Your Ma put me before her. She spell bounded me, made me feel as if I was worth walking on this dirt after hard years of getting me outta of lying in it face first. I loved her, and I still don't know why and how she could love me in return, but there was always one fellow that she loved more."

Abraham cupped his cheek, taking heed of the blue bruise on the side of the boy's face and brought it up to face him. "You, son."

The kid tried to pull his face away from his calloused hands but felt his tears spill out before could even make the effort. He touched his chin to his chest and sobbed, all the while letting Abraham hold his bruised face with tenderness and without restraint. Aaron quaked in his hand, trying with every bit of his will power to hold back his sorrow. He couldn't, and it cascaded over his lids and dampened the back of the man's hand. He shook and withered like the last stubborn autumn leaf on a tree.

The boy knew that his mother loved him and was blind, dumb and deaf to how much she truly did until Abraham's confirmation. He had always thought that Abraham was the one she loved more, and it stung him like a snakebite for the longest time; especially since everybody told him he was just a nuisance at the bawdy house and the stagecoach. His mother was the only one that gave a damn about him and to see her bestow affection on another man had been a kick in the gut. He had been wrong though: Abraham may have had some of her heart, but not all of it. Aaron knew it to be truth, no matter how stubborn he wanted to be about it.

"Your Ma would have taken a thousand bullets to keep you safe, and not a single one for me and I don't cast blame towards her for it in the slightest."

Aaron sniffled and dipped his head away from him even though his hand remained cradled to his face.

"I should have killed him for _you_ ," Abraham lamented heavily, his voice hollow. Aaron looked back up to meet his eyes as anger stared at him from under the rippled pond of tears still glistening over his blue eyes.

Abraham gave a nod. "You're tough Aaron, and I knew that you could do the task, but I didn't want you walking down the same trail I did. We don't live a lavish life for the privilege of keeping our hands clean, but I thought I still could protect you from doing any of that. So I thought I could cheat for the both of us and keep you outta of it."

Aaron's lip trembled as he stewed in his turmoil. There were so many contradictions; too many enigmas to comprehend digused as an apology. Why couldn't he just simply tell that he was a yellow bastard? It would have been easier no matter how much that explanation would have infuriated him. He didn't know what to believe.

In a way, though, Abraham had been selfish. While he didn't want him to get involved, Abraham still had put himself first with Aaron a step behind him. Aaron scowled in his hand and lifted his hand up to shove his wrist to the side. Abraham let him beat his wrist away and he dropped it to his lap, but his repentant gaze never faltered.

"Why didn't you just tell me what you were tryin' to do!" Aaron bellowed, his tears stinging down his face like fingernail scratches. "I wanted you trust you goddamit! Instead you made me feel as me and Ma didn't fucking matter to you!"

Abraham looked at him as if he had just slapped him across the face, and his eyes wrinkled with disgraceful guilt. All he could do was nod in sorrowful agreement.

"After all the mistakes I've made, the decision to not trust you with the truth was my biggest one," Abraham confessed with immense regret. "I was a coward. Afraid I couldn't be anything but be a disappointment. I'm not a good man, but I wanted to at least try with you. I don't reckon I'll ever get the chance to now. Hell, maybe this all just proves I never deserved to get the chance. I knew you could pull the trigger, never doubted it, but I was afraid gettin' you involved might make you turn out like me in some way. I was wrong. Your different boy— stronger than either of us. You'll remember his face and his name, alright and that'll be _my_ heaviest fault of all— not yours."

That selfishness that Aaron had believed him to put on a pedestal above himself fell off as soon as he heard his remorseful admittance. There it all was, bare and in pieces on the floor. What Abraham had done so hard to build, was destroyed by his desperate ambitiousness to prove himself to Aaron. Abraham knew this was all his doing, that it was his fault that Aaron had killed his father, which was why he didn't reprimand Aaron for his actions. He conceded it all, choosing to let him know that in the end, it was Abraham that had pulled the trigger by even though it had been Aaron that held the Derringer.

Abraham picked himself up from the bed and stuffed both of his hands into his coat pockets with his back to him. Aaron remained on the bed, only shifting to hang his legs over the side. They remained trapped in time with nothing but silence.

Abraham knew he was allowing his words to sink in him as Aaron did his very best to organize it all. Still, his previous skepticism, buried deep from years of not truly knowing the driver except what he exhibited on the outside, was all Aaron had to trust. Before, he had known nothing about Abraham except the assumptions he was forced to make: coward, cocksucker, loved his mother, drove a stagecoach and was a decent, rugged man who never showed any indication of holding a single emotion within him.

This new Abraham, consulting with him in the cell, apologizing to him his every transgression and owning up to the boy he knew he had done wrong, was the opposite to everything he had assumed.

In truth, he preferred this man even if he came across as a cadaverous wanderer trapped in Purgatory. Despite what he had unearthed, there was still more secrets he was hiding, but at the same time, Aaron wasn't sure if that was true or it was something _he_ believed because of his time with the previous Abraham. The fact was, he didn't know the man he was looking at, and couldn't decide what to think of him. The man had apologized to him, supplicated for understanding by conjuring his demons to be brought before him for judgment and fearing about what Aaron would think of him once he did.

"I care about you, son. Not just because of your mother, either. You've grown on me no matter how much you hate me."

Aaron didn't reply; he didn't know what to say. He was angry at his declaration, though. If Abraham truly cared, why didn't he have just told him in the beginning? The boy blinked, considering his words for a moment. Even though it was true he never liked him, his efforts to get closer to him didn't go unnoticed: the shooting lesson, the attempts to talk to him, teaching him how to read and being patient to him.

Still, he lied to him— chose not to trust him with the truth. How could he trust a man that kept things from him, no matter how good he thought his intentions were.

Outside of the cell door, the young brown-haired lawman began to stir in his chair. Abraham whistled out to him, corralling him out of his uncomfortable catnap in the chair. The driver's hands came out of his pockets and pulled out green bill notes after he signaled the Deputy that he wanted to be let out.

With a handful of green, he cautiously walked over to him and handed the money out to Aaron. Abraham looked down at the bills in his hand, running his thumb tentatively over them before meeting the boy in the eye.

"You'll be gettin' out, I have no doubt about that," Abraham sighed. "What you do after that I'll leave up to you. I know what you think of me, and want to leave and I'll give you the choice if you want it. They're fixin' up the coach, then I'll be back on the trail. I was saving this up for us, move you to a decent place where I could find better work. Raise you proper. I'm givin' this to you. It's enough for a ticket on the train and then wherever you wanna go. I know you don't want to stay with me, but if you change your mind, I leave at dawn at the end of the week. I won't hold it against you if you go on the train. I'll be seeing you in the morning and you don't have to give me an answer if you don't want to. I'll figure it out for myself."

As soon as the cell door opened, exited and turned his eyes over his shoulder at him. Aaron held the money numbly in his hands, feeling as if Abraham had just handed him a gold bar. It felt heavy and alien in his hand and he what he was supposed to do with it: should he pocket it immediately, hold on to it for dear life or try and give it back even if it was a gift?

Above all else, though, he felt as if he was dirtying the money by touching it — he felt unworthy of being able to hold this much. Even though it was given to him without request, he still felt as if he had just robbed it from Abraham's pocket. The money wasn't the only reason he felt guilty though. The man who had took care of him for three years was saying goodbye to him, knowing fully well that Aaron had always wanted to get away from him all this time. He wasn't fighting it anymore, but accepting that Aaron never wanted anything to do with him, and honoring his choice.

True, it was truly what he wanted, but why did he feel so rotten now that he had gotten his wish - with money to help him get started. His largesse made him feel as if he had been convicted— that he was the one that should truly feel guilty about how he had treated Abraham, and how wrong he was thinking that nobody had ever cared about him. The man who had taken him in truly had. He had confided a secret to him, apologized to him and tried to protect him from committing a crime he knew he was capable of doing, not because he didn't think he could have done it, but because of what stigmata would have been marked on Aaron for the rest of his life if he had done it. He had tried to spare him of what Abraham had lived with, tried to save him from dipping his hands into bloody affairs.

"I hope you grow to be a better man than me, whatever you decide," was his despondent farewell before he shut the door behind him.

Aaron stared down at the sizeable fold of bills in his small hands, trying to better understand the Abraham that he never saw before with more open eyes.

* * *

Erron shot a glance over at Reptile who looked just as miserable in the downpour. The cowboy didn't choose to comment as both of the guards walked along the dirt road in silence as the rain drenched them relentlessly. His boots slipped on the muddy road, his heels fumbling over rocks that were exposed by the constant shower.

The Zaterran shivered noticeably, and Erron could already see the paleness that tinted against his usually grass colored scales. He wasn't the only one chilled to the bone. Black could already feel his feet beginning to numb as they dragged their wet carcasses towards the city gates.

They had exited perilous cradle of the jungle but had continued to be pursued by the gunmetal colored clouds as they stalked like wet rats towards Z'unkaharah.

The drops pelted them heavily as if they were more than adamant about making sure the mercenary and the Outworlder proceeded out of the jungle as quickly as it could make them. For a moment, Erron thought it might be Rain's doing; perhaps he was on a cliff face somewhere behind them laughing at their misfortune as he swirled the hurricane directly over their heads. The marksman rolled his kohl covered eyes. He bet his weekly wage that was probably what was happening and next time they came looking for him in the jungle; he give him a shower of bullets as a comeuppance for their grief.

Perhaps they _would_ have better luck next had managed to find tracks, but after that nothing, except him sleeping in his A-frame tent to kick him awake probably taking it out on him since he appeared just as frustrated about the sudden precipitation and his own terrible luck.

Erron casted a glance towards the Zaterran, who stewed in his own incompetence with his arms across his chest as they marched towards the capitol. He was pissed, but at _least_ he had found something. Kotal Kahn would at be happy about that, granted he was in a curisouly good mood when they got there. Erron doubted that.

The jungle's exit, signaled by the shore of sand that merged with the dirt terrain of the trade road, came into view and beyond the dunes, the tall city gates housed the capitol within its walls.

They trekked along towards the city in silence, both of them too tired and annoyed to attempt small talk. His thoughts were elsewhere anyway to pay attention to anything Reptile wanted to chat about. For instance, how much he was truly not looking forward to returning back to the city. When Reptile found him, he actually tried to dismay him in abandoning their search too soon. The only reason was how much he was dreading getting back to dealing with the baker and her contract holder. He had hoped delaying it, would have put him in better spirits. However, Reptile disagreed about staying in the jungle, and Erron bit his tongue, convinced himself that postponing it would only make it more aggravating than it needed to be, and agreed to leave.

Now back on the trail, making his way towards Z'unkaharah, he was once again contemplating going back to his uncomfortable leaf tent to avoid it again. Erron's eye began to twitch when he realized how ridiculously indecisive he was being— so much in fact that if somebody had squawked to him about how much they didn't want to do a simple task, he would have flat called them out on it. That wasn't him— he was no coward no matter how much he hated the chore assigned to him.

_Cowboy up and get it over with, Black._

He rubbed his palm across the back of his neck; dipping it underneath his soaked poncho Still, it didn't change the fact that he was looking forward to getting reprimanded by the Emperor than dealing with the goddamn women. Kotal Kahn he could deal with; he knew what to expect. The girls though, well, he was better off lowering his hand into a barrel full of copperheads and foolishly hoping his hand didn't come out swollen with venom; he was going to get bit no matter how much he tried to avoid it.

_You're overthinking it. Just get the goddamn paper._

They entered through the city gates and noticed that the rain wasn't as heavy as it was in the Kuatan Jungle but still sprinkled heavily. Looking behind them towards the green landscape, he could already see the clouds flattening and bleaching out the gray color. Not usually one for superstition, but he felt a slight shred of confidence at seeing the sun start to poke its way through the bulbous curtains. Maybe the rational, crude voice in his head was right, and he needed to stop acting as if he was about to go walking barefoot on coals.

Tama knew what he was capable of, and he wasn't going to take no as an answer. His reputation would silence any retort she would try and throw at him. The older woman was going to hand it over to him _without_ fuss, or she would get another barrel aimed at her head. If she still fought, he'd pull the hammer back to make sure she got the message that he wasn't playing around. What they hell was he worried about before?

Perhaps being back in the city, and noticing the wary stares of the people they passed by helped reaffirm his status. Tama was nothing, and he would make damn sure she remembered that fact if she tried to protest. Yes, it was about making amends as well, settling his debt and guilt with the girl, but also to make sure that reaffirmed with himself that he didn't have to tip-toe around anyone.

By the time they reached the curtain wall of the palace, and entered the gate he narrowed his eyes at who was already waiting for him. Reptile walked to the palace, oblivious to the fact that Erron had stopped dead in his tracks and left him behind without a word.

He didn't know if maybe she had been camping outside waiting for him, or somebody at the gate had informed her that he was on his way back. Or maybe because she possessed a crystal ball or had a lucky guess, regardless of what it was, Tama was not the person he wanted to be greeted by first thing walking through the gate.

Her smug disposition smiled at him from underneath her stiff, vertical black umbrella and immediately Erron's hands went to his hips, hovering over the handles of his guns. He straightened his spine and walked towards her an authoritative strut, mirroring her conceited and confident expression as the rain clattered and rolled off the front of his hat.

The corner of Tama's lip curved up in response, relaying to him she was unimpressed by his attempt at trying to intimidate her. Neither of them backed down on their demeanor, and for a moment, it was hard to tell which one was on the defense.

There was a gloating, calculating glint in her eyes, as if she had won before he had even walked through the palace. Erron could tell she had something behind her back in her free hand, and he knew exactly what it was.

The contract.

He would be happy about getting it resolved so quickly, if not for the air of preeminence she portrayed to him. The fact that she was so goddamn happy made him suspicious about what exactly was inked on the paper.

Black titled his masked chin up as his blue eyes narrowed with an imperious glare. "You get what I asked you?" he questioned bluntly, his tone bordering on belligerent.

"No," Tama answered. Her teeth glinted like a jackal that saw an easy meal before she pressed her lips back into a thin line. "But I do have something for you."

He scoffed. "If it ain't what I asked, then don't bother."

She sneered lightly at him, unaffected by his bellicose statement. Instead, she brought her hands in front of her and held up the parchment to him. "I don't think it would be wise to reject accepting this, after all, it has _your_ name on it."

Black's eyes widened minutely before they narrowed with hostile bafflement at her comment. With a sharp snap, he ripped the paper carelessly from her hand and unrolled it.

Behind his face mask, his upper lip flickered with violent distemper — especially when he noticed her grinning at how outraged he was when he read what was on the paper.

His hand crushed the paper in his hands and thrust the smashed parchment between his white-knuckled fist in her direction. "This doesn't look like a goddamn contract to me," he growled.

Tama shrugged, silently crowing her victory at him. "That is because it is not her contract. I will inform them that you have an appointment with the Emperor and that you will be delayed but will be arriving by shortly. He will understand that the Kahn is more of a precedence to you."

The woman twirled the wooden stick of her umbrella, purposely flickering water at him as she passed by him with an arrogant smile. She raised her chin up at him as he hovered his empty hand dangerously over his revolver. Erron watched her go and balled the paper even tighter in his hand.

Tama looked back at him and titled her eyes toward him like a hawk observing ornery mouse. "I do hope you do not keep us waiting long. Norah— you know, one of the two possessions of mine that you tried to rob from me—has been in that waiting patiently for a few days now, and I'm sure she wants to get this underway."

When the older Outworlder turned her back, Erron felt his palm grasp the handle of his gun and lift it an inch out of his holster before he paused.

Oh, was tempting. Just one shot in the back of the head, just one bullet to blow her head apart like a smashed melon.

However, it wouldn't change the fact that he would still have to appear at the tribunal he had been summoned to. It wasn't going to change the fact that she had found a loophole. She was clever, he would give her that, and in truth he should have expected something like this as her rejoinder. Still, that didn't change the fact how much he wanted to shoot her in the back of the goddamn head right now.

"Black!"

Erron looked over his shoulder to see Reptile making his way towards the gunslinger with annoyance. "We must inform Ko'atal about our findings."

The last thing Black was in the mood for, was dealing with another person that wanted his head.

"You go"— Erron raised the parchment crushed in his hands— "I got business."

Reptile narrowed his slit eyes and glanced from him to the paper in his hands. His lip curled up into a glower. "The Kahn does not care about your business. Move!"

Erron flapped his mouth open to argue, but closed it when knew he was right. The Emperor would always come first. It didn't help cool him off though. Now he was even more anxious to get done with Tama than he was before. Storming behind Reptile, he squeezed his hand tighter, turning the wet parchment into paper mache and felt the wet strips sliver through the cracks of his closed fist.

Brushing the melted paper off his palm with his other hand, and discarding it to the sand, Erron and Reptile headed towards the Emperor's throne room…

Even though his mind was already thinking about what was waiting for him in the opposite direction.


	21. Chapter 21

** Chapter 21 ** **  
Once Upon A Time in the West  
Part 3  
 _John Hancock_**

* * *

Erron Black exited the throne room and frowned when he saw the capitol still under the wet canopy of graphite colored clouds. An irritated grumble slipped quietly from his closed lips as he narrowed his eyes at the rain still showering the city; he wasn't looking forward to getting wet again even if the weather was subsiding. After a day of rain, seeing the clouds depart would have been a small abatement that would have helped douse his state of persistent displeasure. Even outside in the fresh air, he still felt every inch of his skin prickling with bitter acrimony, and he knew it was going to get even worse the second he made his way to the city. Dealing with Tama would have been enough to send him looking for a bottle of liquor, but adding the debriefing with Kotal Kahn only made him want to drink that bottle dry by the time the day was over.

His upper lip curled up; the meeting had gone on _far_ longer than what was necessary, and that small irritation caused his already bristled nerves to swell up even more with contempt. They had finally settled on interrogating Tanya despite her warning. Black ground his teeth together— Kotal Kahn could have done that in the first place instead of sending them to the Kuatan Jungle! The only thing Kotal's decision succeeded in doing was twisting his stomach tight with disdainful exasperation. Hoping for a break for once was beginning to turn into wishful thinking.

The bodyguard sighed and shook his head. _Enough bitchin'— at least he paid you for your trouble._

As aggravating as he found it to be, the mercenary understood the Kahn was trying to use his dwindling resources. He was wary of the cards that Tanya may have had up her sleeve. Thankfully, the Osh-tekk was calling her bluff now. The female Edenian shouldn't have even tried. Even Tanya had to know that this would have been his response sooner or later. Erron guessed it was just her nature— especially if it wasted _everyone's_ time. However, and unfortunately for her, the Edenian's most consistent and exploitable trait was her disloyalty for self-preservation. Now they would beat it out of her and then execute them _both_.

Even though it still irked him that it took Kotal Kahn time to come to that conclusion, Erron put the meeting behind him with a heavy exhale. Sucking in the humid air, he forced himself to calm down; allowing his tense muscles to relax even though his thoughts still prodded at him: one step down, two to go and they weren't going to be as easy as dealing with Kotal Kahn's indecisiveness.

Black lifted his dry hat from his head as his eyes steered towards the ivory-capped domed building in the distance. The moment his eyes landed on it, he returned his hat roughly back to his head and pulled the brim down tight like a soldier readying his helmet for war.

The gunslinger's footfalls against the slick palace steps were heated but listless as he tried to bury the tiresome meeting behind him. Instead he focused on the building awaiting his arrival as soon as he crossed the threshold of the palace walls. His eyes landed on the Coliseum obscuring and dwarfing the smaller buildings in the distance, but that wasn't where he was headed. His blue eyes glided to the left of the amphitheater and the building you typically departed out of _first_ before entering the bloody circus ring.

Erron narrowed his eyes at the smaller obsidian spheroid situated on a rectangular first level. At first glance to someone unfamiliar with Z'unkahrah, they would have thought it was a dreary old abandoned mosque or ruin. They would have been wrong—it was very much occupied and in use, and if you stepped out of line, would be the last tourist attraction you'd see.

The four lance-shaped guard towers adjacent to the building's stone border walls stood out like spikes in an iron maiden as he exited the main doors of the curtain wall. With a huff of hot air flaring out of his nostrils, he willed his feet to move towards it. Past the marketplace, the path to the building sloped down before ascending back up.

His eyes always went towards the lower half, mainly because it was a decrepit eyesore compared to the modestly maintained dome on top of the rectangular first story. Being a Kahn's guard, Erron Black knew the lower building well and felt a brief, spiritless smile pull under his mask at the sight of it.

The Iron Vaults; appropriately named, since the prison cells underground were all made of the same cheap material. Erron always found it to be someone's weak attempt at sounding ominous, and instead of inspiring fear, made him roll his eyes. Like the name of a haunted manor in a child's ghost story that only worked at frightening you if you believed in that horseshit.

It was no different than any other prison in Outworld he had seen, and he had visited the Vaults on many occasions before he worked for Kotal Kahn; it was where he went to collect the majority of his reward money for the bounties he brought in. It was the capitol's main prison for common criminals, whether you were guilty or not. Whether minor or nefarious, it held a diverse collection of folks either waiting for their trail, their turn in the Coliseum, or if somebody truly wanted them to suffer, remained there for the rest of their days. It paid well, and he used to find the flaky black walls, charred by rust, a comforting sight to see when he entered the city. It always meant that a heavy bag of coins for meals, drinks, and comfortable lodging, was in his grasp until there was another hunt.

This time, he felt indifferent and a little sour walking to it. It was unnatural going there without hauling someone with him. In a way, Black could almost understand why they bucked and fought against him when he dragged them towards the prison. Being summoned towards it, instead of going willingly, made him want to walk the other direction. It was gloomy, and it sank his stomach into his boots knowing that was where the Baker was being held. He felt sorry for her; the Vaults wasn't a pleasant place to stay— the rancid smell alone was enough for you to want to volunteer for the Coliseum games.

The Vaults he could handle, though, and that wasn't what was worrying him.

His eyes glided along the cracked iron walls and up to the sphere on the second level…

It was the second part of the building he hated more than the prison.

Sitting like a smooth obsidian rock with a colored marble top, as if obnoxiously ebullient to help idiots distinguish the two buildings apart, was the People's Tribunal. Although the modestly lavished building was easier on the eye, Erron still preferred the prison. At least, the residents of the Iron Vaults were upfront about what they were; whether innocent or not, it was easy to see what he was confronting. Black could deal with criminals, but egotistical and short-tempered plutocrats were a different story. He'd rather pull his own fingernails then sort through whether they were politely spewing bullshit at him or not.

The magnates that operated the people's judicial system were typically self-absorbed, petty, and because of that, were disliked by nearly everyone. The only thing they _did_ happen to do well, was constantly nip at each other's heels for higher administrative positions. On the bottom of the totem pole, the plebeians' barristers usually didn't enjoy their profession because they were handed the criminals who did something not worth anyone's time. It bored them.

However, the higher your importance, the more compensation you were given with dealing with the more _exciting_ cases that involved the worst criminals. It was never about the money, though; even the bottom feeders got paid well from the tax payers dollars. They fed on the entertainment the depraved criminals brought in like flies to shit. However, it was a scarcely populated position, which was why the plebeians barristers spent most of their time trying to stab each other in the back for a better job, instead of focusing on doing their job well. It was nothing but a pitiful and pointless to look shiny in the eye of some official who might give them a career advancement; like a bunch of rats fighting over a single cracker in a pit they couldn't climb out of.

As conniving as it was, though, it was still the fairest—and only—due process outside of the Emperor's Palace. Only because, in most of the common people's collected opinion, the barrister's judgments were always lawful and unbiased. They followed the law and if it was indicated that personal opinion swayed a barristers own opinion, that barrister was executed. Usually in a public and gruesome manner.

Another important thing that helped the common folk agree that it was a fair justice system was the knowledge that bribes were seldom ever attempted on barristers. If you wanted to win your case— you would have to feed _all_ the heads of the Hydra. No matter the case: murder, rape, or s stolen property dispute—which was why he was being summoned— there were three barristers you needed to swindle.

To convict someone guilty or innocent, you needed all three barristers to agree with each other based on the arguments presented by the two parties. If one attorney did not agree with the others, another set of lawyers was brought in, replaced the trinity, and the trial started all over again. If _they_ could not agree as well, then the case was handed over to the Chief Barrister to give a final opinion. Everybody knew that once it was given to the Chief Barrister, you were as good as dead. It was typically the subject of tavern gossip that Chief Barrister Ushur _never_ thought anyone was innocent. After all, if you were innocent why were you brought in for judgment in the first place?

Erron doubted that his dispute with Tama would reach the Chief Barrister or even a second trio of lawyers, but that didn't make him any less worried. He scoffed hotly as he looked back at the Courthouse. He still couldn't believe she actually had the goddamn gall to take him to court. Black grabbed his hat and roughly tugged it forward.

Even though the paper was putty, left in pieces on the steps of the palace steps and eaten by the rain and sand, the words written on the parchment were burned inside his head as if the very words were floating in front of him; taunting him like bait on a fishing lure.

**By order of _The People's Tribunal  
_ERRON BLACK_  
_is hereby summoned to appear before the  
 __ Barristers of Property Affairs__  
to give testimony and to bring forth with you evidence relating to the allegations addressed by the complainant  
_ _TSHO TAMA__**   
**Failure to appear or respond to this summons will result in judgment by default against you, and action will be taken to satisfy the charges filed by the plaintiff in accordance with The People's Law.**

Black shook his head, rolling droplets off his hat, as he passed the deserted streets and continued his march towards the building. It was desperate as it was dirty, but the more he got acquainted with Tama, the more he began to understand how she _would_ resort to any means to make sure she had the last laugh. It was pathetic really. Still, when he saw the paper, thinking that it was the contract, it felt just like a sucker punch to the back of the head. He probably wouldn't have wasted his time with it, and allowed the barristers to pass judgment and force him to pay the monetary fee Tama wanted, until the older Outworld woman told him, the girl had been recaptured. _Goddamnit._ Tama knew what tackle to use to get him to do shit he didn't want to. Guilt.

_Just get this over with._ He unpleasantly persuaded to himself as he continued towards the courthouse.

Besides the lone gunslinger, there was nobody in sight, but he did have an audience of silent diversity watching him stomp his soaked boots through the damp silt. Pots and pans of various depths, colors and heights decorated the doorsteps; collecting what they could in their master's absence who huddled indoors. Although the people of Z'unkahrah hiding from the rain likes cats, the desert people enjoyed the rare rainfall that only came when the weather felt like being genial.

Erron tried to think of something else, and not how deviously crafty Tama had been, and settled on plucking out the different sounds around him: the sharp reverberation inside the metal pots, heavily colliding into each other like tiny sledges hitting a gong out of sequence. He glanced down at his boots and at the drops hitting the sand like palms slapping at mud puddles. They tried to drown out the even duller plop of water hitting the small lakes forming inside the clay pots—at least the cascade of rain and the droplets echoing off the metal walls distracted him for a moment. Unfortunately, there weren't enough diversions around to help remove the single ponderous realization he couldn't waver from his mind no matter how much he tried.

The gunslinger rounded the corner, exiting the labyrinth of apartment buildings and cantinas, and stores conjoined to the marketplace and headed downhill in the direction of the Coliseum. This part of the capital wasn't exactly as prosperous as the middle-class housing near to the market, and like the square, the only ones aware of his presence were the pots on the outside of the weathered doors, barely clinging to life on their hinges. It was similar to where he had dropped off the girl— now with a name— and her older friend.

As the clouds misted over the dome, doing its best to obscure his view, he couldn't help but wonder if Tama had thrown her name merely by accident, or if she was chucking an easy barb at him; trying to prove how empty his rescue had been all along when he didn't even know _who_ he was rescuing. Regardless which fact was correct, it still worked at pissing him off. He knew her name now, but there was no weight to it. All he had done was steal a legally tied object from the older woman, one he thought was invasive in his life; a weed that needed to be pulled.

He felt eyes on him, and swiftly up towards the third level of the dilapidated residence. Water rolled backwards, towards the folds of his poncho to look up to see an Outworld teenage girl holding a metal cooking pot outside of her window. The tattered green curtains flapped lazily against her, kissing the outside of her arms as they began to shake from fatigue from holding the heavy pot. He kept his eyes on her as he walked; turning his head over his shoulder. The Outworld girl, a simple marker signaling that he was truly in the destitute neighborhood that surrounded the prison, cast her eyes down upon him. Through her reedy, slick hair, glued to her olive skin from the rain, her brown eyes narrowed at him with bewilderment before she scoffed and pulled her arms into the window.

He turned his eyes away from to the window and heard the shutters slam over the constant murmur of the rainfall around him. Erron's blue eyes rolled over the other windows, and as if she had flagged his arrival by slamming her window shutters, the other Outworlders craning their arms out of the windows to collect water also began to duck back inside their dwellings.

A small smirk managed to tug its way on to his face. He honestly couldn't blame their hesitation: a Kahn's guard strolling down the vacated streets with a sour disposition upon first glance would have had _him_ thinking that he was coming after them too. Why else would he be heading in this direction?

A scowl formed underneath his mask. He shouldn't have been heading towards the Vaults at all! The ex-Earthrealmer's fist tightened with indignation, enough for his nails to bite harshly into his skin. The reason for why he was marching towards the prison was as apparent as the omen he walked past. The reason he was being called to trial, was because of that damn girl. It seemed that Erron wasn't the only one that couldn't discard her from his thoughts— apparently Tama couldn't as well.

He tapped a calloused finger against the drenched leather hide of his holster, patting it in thought. Erron had a good reason for continuing to be involved in her affairs, but what was Tama's interest in keeping her around? That was the one thing that bothered him. _Why?_ Why all the damn trouble over a nobody? Tama had even told him to _'keep the whore'_ as she had so politely put it, before he had dragged the her out of Tama's room. So why go through all the trouble with a court hearing if she hadn't put up too much of a fight with him to begin with?

He shrugged lightly; maybe it was as simple as he thought: she was a sore loser who wanted her money. Black knew he was probably going to be found guilty no matter his position with the Kahn. Black knew it, Tama knew it, and the barristers would no doubt think so too.

Stealing another person's property— especially living property— was a serious misdeed, even in Kotal Kahn's lax post-civil war rule. Black had to admit, he didn't think she would have been brazen enough to file a claim against him with a target painted on her back. The ridiculous notion of her taking a Kahn's guard to court over one slave, and risking her life, never crossed his mind when he had been nagging at himself about what he had done in the jungle. Apparently, she was stupider than he had thought she was, which was better than admitting that Tama had found a way to pull the rug out from under him. Black sneered. At least he wasn't _that_ sore of a loser.

Black looked over the top of the buildings to see the two sharp spires that stood at the front corners of The Vaults. The closer he walked towards the dungeon, the more they began to rise over the top of the apartment buildings like an elephant rearing its tusks at him—warning him to turn away. He continued with a strong, sturdy pace, unafraid by its foreboding appearance.

Black wasn't stupid, he knew _exactly_ what the verdict he was going to be. That didn't mean he was afraid of facing his arraignment— not in the slightest. The typical penalty for stealing was death if you were a gutter dweller without a coin to your name— why keep you alive if you can't pay the fine? If you did have money and the court knew you could afford it, then you paid (and sometimes a flogging was tallied on to your sentencing if you were short a few coins). Paying the penalty was what he was expecting and the only thing that annoyed him about the verdict was being forced to play a game he wanted no involvement in— especially one he wasn't going to win.

Just from Tama's tone alone, Erron had a feeling that this was a punishment meant specifically for him. This was all tediously pathetic. A peculiar and irrational thought wormed its way into his head. Maybe if he could have taken the time to learn her goddamn name, he wouldn't have felt as if he was an infant fighting over a toy. That was all this was, and he felt somewhat bad for the rag-doll in the middle of their tug of war— that made him feel even more worse.

As it had read on the paper, Norah was nothing but property they were fighting over, and it was funny that something as simplistic as knowing a name could have helped teeter away some guilt he felt burying him. It was all on him, and it kept getting shoveled on him more and more— just like his decision to act as impudent and as rashly as he had did when he grabbed her from the room. Perhaps if he had stopped thinking about himself, he would have seen her as an actual person and could have done things correctly. Instead of taking her, he could have found a more logical, civilized solution to win her freedom. All he had done was discard her away like an obsolete tool. If he had known her name, Norah, perhaps he would have felt differently. Maybe, when he had pried her from the leviathan's tentacles, he wouldn't have been doing it to make himself feel better.

Raking his nails across his forehead, he sighed as the tall black fence gates, speckled with orange, came into view. He walked down and noticed the guards at the entrance lift their heads up at the single visitor.

He ignored them, his thoughts were still searching for the ways he could have avoided all this shit. Not asking for it really was his _first_ mistake. Not the tavern. He had demoralized her, turned her into an immaterial object. He had plenty of opportunities to ask it, but never did and perhaps their temperament towards each other would have been different. Or maybe not at all, but discovering her name by Tama just disposing of it, throwing it at him like she had something sour on the tip of her tongue, made him feel like a vagabond that had picked it up from the street.

Erron really _hadn't_ done anything to repay his debt after all, because he didn't even know who he was repaying it _to_. Shame hit him bluntly at the thought. In the jungle, when he was dreading seeing the girl again but was adamant that all he needed to do was rip an apology out of her to feel reprieve, he had been gravely wrong.

Black had been thinking too far ahead — thinking selfishly again without realizing it. Again, he had been trying to look for the easiest solution, which ironically, was what he was trying to repress since he acknowledged it as his bad habit. He knew that he couldn't half-ass his approach, and all he ended up doing was jumping too far ahead, not knowing he was leaping over vital stepping stones.

The first thing he needed to do, was ask for her name. That alone was not going to be an easy feat considering the first time he had asked.

_"I never did get your name."_

_"And you never will."_

There had been a reason why she said that. It had been his way of apologizing, but the baker didn't want something as personal as an apology from him. She thought of him from that point on as cold and inhuman. He hadn't earned the privilege to ask. That question of humanity popped up in his head again, and he clicked his tongue bitterly. Perhaps, there was more to it than her not wanting an apology by refusing to give out her name.

When he had asked, it hadn't escaped his notice that she took offense to it, but there was a chance not for the first thing he assumed; not because he had been seeking forgiveness, but because of what he had done to her. Erron had made her feel insignificant— just one bullet and he'd remove the pebble in his shoe.

From that point on, the girl had known what she was to him and asking for something that made a person unquestionably human, had sailed away. Erron had demonstrated how much she didn't matter to him, and accepted that was the way things were. With that in mind, with Norah thinking that she was nothing to him, he understood just how steep his uphill battle was beginning to look, and he wasn't even sure if he was indeed seeing the daunting peak, or it was just another illusion.

If he wanted his guilt removed, so he could carry on with his life without looking back, he needed to return to basics; start anew and go back to that day at the tavern when they first met. If he wanted to show her he was genuine, that he cared and felt sorry for what he did, then getting her name was the first step. He needed to show that she mattered, and what he had done to her was picking at him too. Then they could at least be at even level. In a way, his plans hadn't changed since he conceived his plan in the jungle: he had to get past Tama and her petulant actions before dealing with Norah. In a way, it helped him breathe a little easier knowing that his plans hadn't metamorphosed into something else—they just grew more complicated. After this unpleasant encounter with Tama, he would still make the effort towards the baker.

The guard standing post at the gate, a muscular Outworld man a little taller than him. His black, shoulder length hair clung to his neck, as if trying to hide the inscrutable scar running from the corner of his neck down to the dip where his collar bones met. No doubt a botched job and the only reason he was standing before him scowling at him in the rain.

Black told him where his business was. His blue eyes narrowed at the chestnut ones that stayed sternly glued on him even when his body turned to help the other guard unlock the fenced door.

The gunslinger walked in, paused and lifted a haughty eyebrow at the guard still gazing at him with ambiguous ire. "You like staring?" Erron Black growled. He leaned his hat towards him as his eyes darkened. "Do you want _me_ to be the last thing you see?"

The brusque guard's mouth tugged up in a sneer before he averted his eyes towards the apartment buildings. Erron stormed past them and casually rested his palms on the handle of his holsters. The courtyard was vacant, but he did see more guards hiding under the shelter of the main entrance. Like the majority of the structure, the iron doors were spotted with orange.

He swaggered toward the building with an arrogant straight-backed posture; physically hiding his resentment and hesitance about walking into court for the first time.

Erron Black had been close, but as he entered through the doors that were opened to him by the guards, he knew he wasn't going to get as lucky as the last time.

* * *

**Atchison, Kansas**   
**1868**

The boy in the jail cell swung his legs over the side of the bunk and jumped off. Approaching the bars, he grabbed them with his small fingers and pressed his face against the cold steal of his cage.

Abraham had told him during his nightly visit that he would be taken over to the courthouse for trial that next dawn. Aaron looked out the bars, across the table in the middle of the room and through the window. Across the street, he watched as the sun disappeared behind the wooden blocks of buildings and darkened them like a flame being smothered by a candle snuffer.

All day long he had waited with fearful impatience for his trial. All day long his stomach twisted tighter and tighter with nervousness with each passing hour. The Deputy and the Sheriff had stopped in, only to work on paperwork before leaving again, and neither of the men had offered him any insight on what was going on.

Zachariah hadn't been by to visit either, nor had Abraham who had promised he would. Aaron was not sure if that was a good or bad thing, but couldn't help but think it was the latter. Abraham was usually pretty good about keeping his word and it only piled on another stone of worry upon his already daunting pile.

With the last ribbons of sunlight vanishing from behind the building, he let out a sigh and crawled back to his bed. The mattress dipped under his weight as he reached over and grabbed the dirty, thin pillow. Folding it, he rested his head against it and closed his eyes.

Thankfully, his insomnia had finally caught up with him and he was confident that he might be tired enough to stay asleep without a nightmare jolting him awake. He certainly hoped so. Between Abraham's visit, his father's death, and the guessing about what his verdict would be, he needed a night of uninterrupted bliss. Even though the room began to blanket in darkness, his mind still buzzed.

Despite being too numb to move, even carrying himself to the edge of his cell had been taxing on his sleep-deprived legs, he still couldn't stop thinking back on Abraham's words and his proclamation of his sincere feelings for him. It all still sat about as comfortable as a rock in his back. There was no doubt that Abraham had meant what he had told him, but swallowing it down was the hardest part for Aaron. He could have sworn that the entire thing hadn't happened at all. Maybe if it hadn't, if it had been an hallucination, then the driver's words wouldn't feel as heavy on him as they did.

The only one that had ever said anything like that, or expressed any compassion for him, was his mother. It was difficult to compare Abraham to her and painful. A tear escaped out of the corner of his closed eye and he brushed it away with a sharp wipe. He sniffled, holding back the rest and let out a shaky breath as his mother's face appeared.

With the pillow as a substitute, he pretended that his head was rested across her thighs. He tried to recall the feel of her hands brushing tenderly through his scalp as she hummed a tune. Her voice was husky, but smooth and melodious like a wind blowing across a grass field on a cloudy day.

_Tell her to find me an acre of land.  
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
Between the sea foam and over the sand.  
Then she'll be a true love of mine_

Her voice was getting more and more difficult to hear in his head and each year that had passed since her death, the lyrics became forgotten. Soon, he knew there wouldn't be many left for him to remember; lost to time. She had only sang that song on occasion, and he was quite sure it was the only one she really knew, but he would hold on to as long as he could. As long as he needed to. For the longest time, it had been one of many tools he had used as a crutch. However, with each travel down the trail, it got harder and harder to remember her. All he had was hate and his promise that he would avenge her. The hate... he realized had eclipsed all the pleasant memories he had of her. He couldn't even remember what her fingers in his hair felt like anymore.

_If she tells me she can't, then I'll reply.  
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
Let me know, that at least she will try.  
Then she'll be a true love of mine_

_Love imposes impossible tasks  
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
Though not more than any heart asks.  
And I must know she's true love of mine_

This time, he let the tears fall as he buried his face into the pillow. He missed her but felt ashamed when he realized how quickly her memory had began to already peel away. His father had not only killed her, but in the end, had also marred everything else about her.

_When thou has finished thy task.  
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme  
Come to me my hand for to ask.  
For then you'll be a true love of mine_

He fell asleep as her voice began to turn into a murmur and the rest of her words to her song were lost.

* * *

Snapped out of his dreamless sleep, he felt a hand at the back of his coat lift him to his feet before he could even open his eyes. Like a puppet on a string, he was dragged towards the open cell door he could barely make out as he tried to stabilize himself on his sleepy, paralyzed legs.

"Rise an' shine, boy. You're free to go." Aaron flinched when Zachariah shoved the burlap bag of onions at him, and the blonde boy juggled with its weight as he wobbled on his tired legs. Still with rocks in the corner of his eyes, he yawned as the Missourian looked down at him with an indifferent shrug as a pair of distorted shadows passed by him and entered the cell he wasn't able to get a good look at.

"Congratulations on the acquittal—" Zachariah remarked as he gruffly nodded towards the bag—"a token of your lucky circumstances."

The 7-year-old blinked through his heavy eyes to look down at the sack that scratched roughly against his soft palms. Aaron was utterly confused what was going on and never expected to be woken in such a strange manner. He wasn't even certain if he was still asleep or not.

The onions rolled wildly inside, as if trying to escape his grasp, while he slowly fluttered his eyelids. As soon as he felt some of the slumber fly away from him, he looked around to see the brown haired deputy seated in his chair and rocking on the back legs of his chair, precariously balancing with only his heel on the table as an anchor.

Aaron jumped when the cell door closed behind him and succeeded in fully bolting him awake. As the Sherriff turned the key in the lock, Aaron looked behind him to see a willowy young cowboy with disheveled short black hair sleeping on the bunk the boy had previously occupied. The gray-haired man passed the boy without a glance, and accompanied the empty chair across the younger man. The Shotgun Messenger turned his back to him as well and walked over to grab the lonesome chair by the writing desk to join the two.

"You wanna halt your solitaire in favor of a game of poker?" Both of the Atchison lawmen smirked at his proposal. Removing his foot from the table, the Deputy teetered forward and collected the cards as soon as the legs of the chair hit the ground.

Aaron stood in silence with his eyes at their backs and gulped nervously; unsure what he was supposed to be doing. Zachariah's words bounced around in his head like a pair of wild dice. _Congratulations on the acquittal._ He knew what the coachman had meant, but he might as well been speaking German because he didn't comprehend a single word of it. The boy, who had been locked up for almost a week, was suddenly free to go? No trial, no jury, no judge and more importantly, no trip to the gallows? Shyly, he looked at the bag of onions, as if hoping the explanation was inscribed on the burlap, but the sack was as blank on clarification as he was.

Money began to litter the top of the worn table as they chuckled to each other; calling out the name of the game, and boasting how they were going to take each other's money. The boy, outside of the his cell, looked behind him at the snoring man draped face-first over the bunk. Although he was grateful to finally be out, he still felt as if he should be the one sleeping on the bed instead of the cowboy.

Why was he not going to trial? Why wasn't he still locked inside. Why the onions?

A boastful laugh from the Sherriff jarred him out of his thoughts, and he turned back towards the table as Zachariah began to shuffle the deck. The Deputy's eyes fell on him and Aaron felt his stomach churn at the way his cheerful smile, the one produced from Zachariah's joke, fell slowly as he looked at him. He stared at him like a stranger weary of another passerby and averted his eyes just as quickly as his smile departed. It was the same look he had always given him, but the equivocation of his actions were heightened seeing him beyond the cell doors. He was apprehensive of what to think of him. The Deputy, who had at least 20 years and a firearm on his hip, looked at him like an unwanted ghost harassing him at the foot of his bed.

The confused orphan blinked and looked down at his shoes to hide his abashment, but he could still feel the awkward air that hung around him like thick campfire smoke. Aaron walked a few steps across the wooden floorboards— as if testing to see if his liberty was genuine or if it was a masquerade.

This time all three men looked up as they organized their set of cards. None of them said anything and just watched him with capricious eyes; like they were watching an animal smelling its new environment. He glanced up and frowned angrily; mirroring their silent judgmental concentration.

There was nothing but derision in Zachariah's brown eyes, but that was nothing new. The Sherriff and the Deputy, however, eyed him with the same quiet edginess. They were uneasy around him, not because of what he had done, but it looked as if they were internally arguing about what sort of opinion they should have about a young boy who murdered his own father. He swallowed and felt his doubt get wedged in his throat. Nobody was going to hang him for what he did, but all they saw when they looked at him was just another killer who got off free.

Aaron's brows bridged together in confusion. "Why onions?" It was the only question that came to mind.

Zachariah huffed with impatience, as if the answer was obvious. "I was gonna rub them in your eyes. Make you cry so the jury would be thinkin' you were blubbering about killin' your Pa'. Play with their heart strings. You can throw them at barn cats for all I care."

The boy holding the onions, looked around at the adults for comments. All three of them stared at him diffidently but didn't say anything, so the boy was left to ask: "Why? You hate me. Why would you try and help me?

"I was helpin' _Abraham_ ," the Stagecoach employee answered with harsh bluntness. Zachariah looked up at him with a brief flash of hatred before he glued his attention to his cards. "There a reason you're still gawking in here?"

"Is it because I'm a kid? Is that why nobody wanted to gimme a trial?" Aaron blurted out. His tone was blunt and full of resentment he didn't hide. It ended up being a rhetorical question since they projected what he had suspected on their fidgety faces. The Deputy and the Sherriff, cleared their throats uncomfortably as if they were struggling to cook up the words to say to him, but Zachariah was the one that granted him an answer.

The older man laid his cards flat against the table with a slam and leaned forward in his chair, his eyes glaring at him like a mountain lion. "Your neck is in one piece because you're a kid, alright, and if it were up to me, I'd see you treated like an adult on trial too since you gripe so much to be treated as such. Still, you ain't no fuckin' man for killin'. All you are is a whiny fuckin' pup who bites at the ankles of the only sonovabitch that feeds you scraps."

Aaron curled the bag closer to his chest as if trying to conceal how hard Zachariah had bruised him. The older man didn't relent and his disposition remained constant even though the other two men seated at the table had their eyes on the cards in their hand. It was obvious they wanted to intervene, but remained silent.

Zachariah waved his hand towards the door. "The door's all yours to step through. Go on and enter fuckin' adulthood since you think yourself so doughty for sullying yourself in it. It's what you always wanted, ain't it? Even though how considerately patient Abraham has been to you. I say you never deserved it. He should have put you on that orphan train to be some other fools' goddamn business. Get goin'. See who else wants a father killin' brat because with all guarantee, it ain't anybody sittin' in this room."

He wanted to scream. Yell and protest that everything he had spewed so scornfully at him was nothing but bullshit; that he was nothing but a cocksucking liar for what he had said. Aaron probably would have, he had never failed to voice his ire, but as silence continued to hang heavily around the room, the words stopped dead on his tongue.

The other two men said nothing but responded in agreement with quit faces full of pity for him. They wouldn't say anything to defend him, and it only made Zachariah's claim that nobody wanted him sting even more. It made the truth that had always been so easy to forgo, harder to dust off. Before, it was something that he had always told himself with; like a note to remind himself that he was alone and that was why _he_ needed to avenge his mother's death. Aaron had always been the one to say those words, but now that his mother's death was vindicated, there was no more motivation to tell himself that. Even worse, hearing it come from someone else, even someone he knew disliked him, felt like cold hands at his throat; choking out any lie he could tell himself.

Tears pricked at his eyes that he sucked back by tilting his chin up. When they threatened to spill, Aaron ran to the door with the onions still cradled in his arms. The door fought against him as he shoved his way through and marched on the boardwalk. His shoes thudded heavily with each stride, and as he passed by an alley and threw the burlap bag into its dark path as he stormed past it.

Eventually, he ran out of breath, but was content he had put enough distance between him and the Jailhouse. Burying his hands across his chest and into his brown coat, he sniffled as he wandered around the deserted dirt streets of sleepy Atchison. He had no idea what hour it was, but knew, and was fortunate, that nobody was awake to see his tears wet the dusty wooden boards like raindrops.

Aaron had never been trying to prove anything that Zachariah claimed he did— all he wanted was for someone to care besides himself that his mother got retribution. What wrong was there? Maybe he had only said those things just to get him to leave so they could play their poker game, but that explanation didn't sit well with him. Aaron spat on the walkway. He hated that man!

Jumping off the wooden walkway, his shoes kicked up dirt. Rubbing his hands up and down his sides, Aaron tried to warm his hands under his coat as his breath coiled in front of him. He hugged himself tighter and hunched his chin against his chest as he slowly made his way towards the hotel. Aaron stumbled quietly as the moon hung overhead for him like a personal lantern. With each unenthusiastic step, he tripped over his own thoughts about Zachariah's contemptuous hatred towards him. The boy always disliked the wagon's shotgun driver but his words had always rolled off easily until tonight. He couldn't understand why it was different. Maybe he was just tired from the long week and Zachariah was taking advantage of his weakened shield. It was certainly better than accepting his words as a ruthlessly honest perception of what people saw of him. He was more than just an orphan...

The blonde haired boy stopped dead in his tracks. Zachariah had called him a father-killer, and they way he had disdainfully spat at him just reaffirmed his suspicion of why the Deputy and the Sherriff may have thought of him too. He shook his head and gripped his white shirt so tightly under his coat, he felt his nails scratch his ribs through the fabric. Why was he considered a monster for doing the right thing?! Just because he wasn't an _adult_?! Hot puffs of anger escaped out of his nostrils as he fumed where he stood. What was the difference?! There as none and he knew he wasn't the only one who thought so!

Regardless of what Zachariah had said, there was one person that had told him that he _was_ wanted.

Abraham.

_"I care about you, son. Not just because of your mother, either. You've grown on me no matter how much you hate me."_

Despite what he had done, Abraham blamed himself and not Aaron. He was right to think so— he should have told him what he had been planning. However, as Aaron stood still, his arms hugged around his waist under a starless sky, the boy realized how wrong _he_ had been all along— just as wrong as Zachariah.

Abraham still wanted him around, he had given him money and a proposition because he very well may be the last person on Earth that actually did give a damn. Aaron reached into his back trouser pocket and gathered the money he had given to him in the cell.

_"I know what you think of me, and want to leave and I'll give you the choice if you want it. They're fixin' up the coach, then I'll be back on the trail. I was saving this up for us, move you to a decent place where I could find better work. Raise you proper. I'm givin' this to you. It's enough for a ticket on the train and then wherever you wanna go. I know you don't want to stay with me, but if you change your mind, I leave at dawn at the end of the week."_

_"I know you don't want to stay with me..."_

The driver knew exactly what Aaron thought of him, but still gave him the money anyway. If he didn't care about him, he wouldn't have bothered — Aaron would have never given away such a fortune for Abraham if their roles were reversed.

Aaron looked down at the waded pile of green notes like he had been hit with a battering ram. Remorse flooded him all at once and when he looked down at the evidence in his hand, it felt as he was holding a hot piece of coal in his palm. He was wrong, so incredibly wrong, to think that nobody cared about him and the fact that Aaron had never _once_ reciprocated what Abraham felt about him, made him feel disgustingly ungrateful. Aaron had been horribly mistaken about his own assumption about what he was.

He wasn't an orphan, not if he didn't want to be.

_"I was saving this up for us, move you to a decent place where I could find better work. Raise you proper. I'm givin' this to you. It's enough for a ticket on the train and then wherever you wanna go."_

This money never belonged to him, it belonged to both of them. There was no way he could keep it, even if it was a given to him willingly. Aaron knew with a heavy sigh of regret, that he had to return the money to him. His other proposition, however, the boy would have to give it some thought about. It was new, unexplored territory he was afraid to trek across — maybe the bravest thing that Aaron would ever consider doing, but certainly worth at least negotiating about.

Aaron pocketed the money and instead of the hotel, walked until he saw orange light flickering ahead of him; curtaining the dirt road. It was the tavern that Zachariah and Abraham frequently visited. Stepping back on the boardwalk, he peered through the dirty window and frowned when he caught the brim of a familiar dark hat.

The hour must have been later than he thought it was, because not very many people occupied inside the bar area. All he could make out where few older ranch hands playing cards with girls at their shoulders and Abraham seated at the table nearest the window. The barkeep, a short and stout frizzy red-haired man, walked over to the driver's table and placed another bottle of whiskey and collected the empty one he was holding loosely in hand.

Aaron felt abashed surprise flower across his face. Even after days on the trail, dealing with both Zachariah, Indians, the passengers, the horse team and making sure he was comfortable, he had never seen Abraham look as exhausted as he did; it stopped the breath in his throat.

Black bags cresentoid under his eyes as his fingers gabbered towards the drink the bartender gave him. The boy, his only audience, watched as he nearly missed putting it to his lips before he sucked it down. With the back of his dirty black coat sleeve, the stagecoach driver wiped the brown driblets from his beard before he squeezed his eyes tightly.

Abraham shuddered, and the 7-year-old watched every muscle on his torso quiver as the liquor ran down his pipe. A woman in her dirty white unmentionables sauntered over to him, but her hips didn't sway seductively as they would to a potential customer; more like easy prey. The curvaceous brunette placed a hand on the back of his back, springing him slowly to a disorientated alertness.

He saw her ask Abraham a question, give a toothy grin and nod her head towards the stairs. Abraham closed his eyes as his cheeks ballooned from the burp he was holding in. Swallowing it after a long moment, he dismissed her with a cordial but tipsy wave of his hand. She nodded, looking somewhat disappointed and went back to the poker game.

Abraham titled his hat back and leaned backwards in the chair until his head lolled back. As soon as Aaron watched his chest rise and drop with the slow rhythm of his breathing, he understood that he was seeing Abraham past his usual inebriated limitations.

He knew Abraham drank— there wasn't an adult he knew that didn't— but he had always retained his tenacity to remain steadfast. Never once had Aaron seen him drink past the point of self-prescribed restrictions. As he continued to peer into the window, looking at the sleeping, drunk man that was alien to him, he couldn't help but wonder why he had drunk himself into a catnap.

A disapproving frown tugged at the corner of his mouth as he continued to peer at his surrogate guardian snoring so loudly he could hear him through the glass. What was bothering so bad that it was forcing him to resort to whiskey to steal shut-eye? Aaron knew him long enough to know that something troubling could be the only the only reason he was drinking so heavily.

For a brief, shameful moment, Aaron couldn't help but think it had something to do with him. With a sigh, and feeling the weight of the realization fall on him like someone throwing a horse saddle on him, he knew that he _was_ the reason.

Why though—and it was the same question that had been haunting him since Abraham had left his cell. Why did Abraham care about him so much? He certainly never asked for Abraham to take him with him on the trail; to clothe him, feed him and provide shelter for him when they weren't traveling. The reason for his generosity didn't rest well with him thinking that the only reason he did it was because of his mother. He knew that it was part of it, but not the entirety.

Maybe at first it was… maybe that all changed after time went by. Perhaps the more he was in his company, the more he wanted to care for him. Was there something about him that Abraham saw that Aaron and everyone around them was blind to? Perhaps it was simpler than he thought: they were two orphans who loved the same woman, with nobody else to call kin. Maybe it was because they weren't kin and they were the same, was why Abraham was willing to try. It was just up to Aaron to give him the opportunity.

Aaron's head shot up when he heard angry shouting and looked up in time to see one of the men at the poker table throw his boot at Abraham's head. It hit him, knocking his hat off to the ground, but the driver remained as stubborn as a bear in hibernation. The brother of the boot's owner hit him again in the head and this time he did wake up.

As if his head weighed as much as a buffalo, Abraham had trouble picking it up as he sucked in the spit that crawled out at the corner of his mouth. The men shouted at him, yelling that if he continued snoring a bullet was going to be the next thing hitting his head.

Abraham climbed to his feet like a man in his 90's with a broken back and nearly fell over as he bent forward to retrieve his hat. Grabbing his still full bottle of whiskey, his feet shuffled across the floor like he was linked to a prison chain-gang as he staggered towards the door.

With a grin identical of a cat who ate a canary, he turned towards the girls, placed his hat on his head and tipped it at them by pinching the brim. Aaron heard their feminine, amused giggles as Abraham opened the door and lurched onto the boardwalk. The wind hit him and he nearly lost his balance before grabbing on to the side of the door. Aaron looked at him like a perplexed dog as the stoic driver kept his loopy grin on his face and walked in the direction of the hotel.

His boots limped across the dirt as he passed by Aaron as if he wasn't even there, missing him completely as he shut his eyes and sauntered towards his room at the hotel, using only the memory and luck to get him there.

"Wish I was in the land of cotton… old times they're not forgotten… Look away… look away…"

Aaron followed behind him as he side-winded across the street. Singing the same line of lyrics sarcastically in an almost decipherable murmur. The boy scratched the back of his neck sheepishly as he walked with him, unsure if he was morosely captivated by this new side of him, or making sure he got his drunk ass to the hotel without falling over in the street.

"Wish I was in a land of cotton… old times they're not forgotten…"

They got closer to the hotel, and he could almost make out the sign in the distance even though the blackness of the night hid the letters.

"…old times they're not forgotten…"

Abraham stopped in his tracks and Aaron felt goosebumps rise and tickle the fabric of his shirt sleeve when he heard the sad and derisive way he repeated the Dixie lyric. Fumbling with his footing, the ex-Confederate turned towards the boy who had been stalking him.

Aaron actually took a step back when he saw the way his respectful guardian glared at him. He had never seen him once look at him with as much disgruntled malice, not even Zachariah looked at him with as much contempt. The major difference between the two men, was Abraham looked at him with angry tears coming out of his eyes as his upper lip twitched at him sharply—vindictively.

Instead of feeling frightened by it, Aaron took a step forward. It was all a show; he was acting—and doing it poorly. The only reason he knew Abraham was because of the formidable sadness he saw streaming down his cheeks.

Aaron managed to catch how honestly melancholy he was, before the man bared his teeth and lobbed the bottle at him.

The brown bottle scattered into jigsaw pieces across the dirt like a crack of lightening hitting the ground. Aaron had to jump backwards to avoid the shards that were pointed in a disorganized diamond shape where he once was. Even though he wanted to rationalize that Abraham was drunk, it didn't feel like a bluff.

_"Get goin'. See who else wants a father killin' brat."_

The blonde haired boy felt his bottom lip tremble. He couldn't take his eyes off the broken glass and the liquor sinking into the dirt. His vision blurred as tears resurfaced on the ledge of his eyes, and he looked at Abraham with bleak puzzlement. Abraham would have _never_ harmed him—sober or drunk.

Maybe he had been wrong all along, maybe not even Abraham wanted him. Zachariah had been right about one thing: Abraham didn't have to do anything for him. He could have put him on a train and forgot he ever existed. Instead, the man opened his heart and tried to love him, and the only thing Aaron had done to repay him for his trouble, was believe that nobody wanted him. _Abraham_ had wanted him and Aaron had rewarded his selflessness by doing the one thing that Abraham hadn't wanted him to do. Become a young killer, like he had been.

_"I know you don't want to stay with me..."_

That wasn't true anymore, and the more they stood in silence in the street, he began to understand that the money, and the talk in the cell was Abraham's way of telling him goodbye. He had been accepting that Aaron would never want him and knew it. That was why he was in the bar — Aaron had crushed his heart.

It was only confirmed when Abraham abhorrently uttered a sorrowful revision of the lyric, sending even more tears falling from Aaron and finally allowing Abraham's to escape.

"I wish it was _your_ name that could be forgotten…"


	22. Chapter 22

** Chapter 22 _  
_ ** **Once Upon a Time in The West _  
_Part 4 _  
Trial and Error_**

* * *

Erron's eyebrows rose with cynical curiosity when he pushed his way to through the doors of the People's Tribunal to find that the court building was not as quiet as he assumed it would be. Voices bounced off the dome's interior like a choir singing in a massive Catholic cathedral. However, he didn't feel any warm feelings of sanctuary walking into the sable black room. He honestly would have mistaken the building for the dreary dungeon or catacomb, if not for the actual presence of sunlight that streamed in from the arched open windows that circled the entire dome like a band overhead. 0

He looked over the tip of his hat to glance briefly at the marble top that was as bleak as a sheet of paper, but probably worth more than the cost of all the stones used for the construction of the building combined. Black's blue eyes climbed down from the marble center and over each brick like rungs on a ladder. He couldn't make out the material, but every stone looked like basalt that had prospected from the cavity of a dead volcano and chipped down to resemble ordinary masonry. In his honest opinion, it made the building look more cheaply built.

Eventually, his gaze focused on the obvious attention grabber of the entire lobby, sandwiched between the arched doorways beneath and brick walls above. Just like the windows wrapped around the whole structure, underneath was an extensive section of spacing that was nothing but an ominous canvas of sculptures carved into the walls. Seven separate murals in total circled the lobby, and despite what they represented, were similar in theme. Menacing charcoal snakes detailed carefully to the last scale, slithered along the walls and devoured the guilty chiseled evildoers. Each stone drawing represented one of The People's Law illustrated in haunting detail with each punishment more melodramatic the more severe the crime was. It was nothing but a scare tactic, carved for the audience waiting in attendance by the back wall on the wooden waiting bench.

Ignoring the paintings made by an over-enthusiastic sculptor, Erron's eyes walked around the lobby and stopped at each door on the main level. Even with the doors shut, he could still make out some of the frenzied and heated shouting coming from the various rooms. At least, he had finally found the source of the sound that bounced off the dome like a wasp's nest. The mercenary looked around the room and frowned behind his mask as he looked back at the various Outworlders waiting on the bench behind the receptionist's desk in the middle of the lobby. Everybody could hear what was going on in each closed room, and he immediately disliked the lack of privacy and confidentiality he thought _everyone_ was obliged to. It also didn't help cool his nerves when he eyed every male body stationed outside the large wooden doors.

The mercenary wondered for a moment if the guards on post by the locked rooms were being paid handsomely to keep quiet about what they overheard going on in each chamber, or they wanted to keep their heads. It only took him a second to figure out it was the latter, and he wondered how many had been beheaded for revealing delicate information — or falsely accused of doing so. Just from his general first impression, he had to guess that employment in the People's Tribunal was _temporary_ than working in the Vaults, which was yet another reason why he preferred the prison. By the look on each guard's faces, they seemed to dislike their job as well since it was apparent they knew of the thin string they hung by. No wonder they all looked more tensed than bored.

Black's derisive stare landed on the rooms one by one and read each of the dark wooden plaques that hung overhead each door: Property, Acquisition and Notarization, Marriage and Divorce, Theft, Violence, Murder, Treason. The mercenary was surprised he didn't make the connection before, but each sculpture that was over the door was connected to what the room dealt with. For instance, the fourth door, which was Theft, depicted a man who held a handful of gold in his hand. They fell from his open palm like snow frozen in time as the stone thief's face screamed in startled fear as the large python opened its fanged mouth over his head, hissing at the gold in the man's hand. Written on the belly of the snake was one of People's Law: _"Those that commit theft shall be put to death."_

Black rubbed his palm against his forehead and sighed tiredly, trying to smooth the headache that began to pound against his head as the discombobulated shouting traveling around the hollowed building, continued to buzz annoyingly like ghosts in a mausoleum.

Perhaps mausoleum was befitting since he felt as if he was stepping off of Charon's boat and trespassing into a baroque-decorated Purgatory. Sitting in the middle, in his wooden island with organized parchments stacked like stones in a castle's keep on opposite sides of him, was the stressed and bitter boatman himself. Black wondered what the wiry, black-robed Outworld elder had on his mind besides trying to talk himself out of, he sat with his chin in his hands and his coffee-colored eyes narrowed in discontent at the rolls of papyrus. His sharp, sunken eyes shot up as the mercenary approached the desk and he raised a single eyebrow in aggravated impatience before malignant recognition spread across his face.

"Kotal Kahn's most _infamous_ Guard." His rough, gravely voice scraped over Erron's skin like rocks cascading down a jagged mountainside. As his mouth moved, Erron felt a rancid mixture of blood and mint hit him that not even his mask could guard against. The old man reminded him of someone long ago from Earthrealm, both in appearance and mannerisms, but it only made Erron hate the man in front of him even more.

_There was a crooked man and he walked a crooked mile  
_ _He found a crooked sixpence upon a crooked stile_   
_He brought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse_   
_And they all lived together in a little crooked house_

Black hadn't thought of that rhyme in years, but just looking at the old man, brought it rushing back to his mind.

"They are not ready," he gruffly told him, "take a seat with the others and you will be called shortly by the guard outside room 4."

Erron's eyes followed where his pointed his bony hands towards the door and the guard outside. Behind the ill-tempered receptionist's long gray-haired head, the gunslinger looked behind him to see a few Outworlders seated on the waiting bench by the back wall all staring at him with displeasure when they overheard the lobbyist proposal to sit with them. The feeling was mutual. The Outworld girl seated on the bench by an older gentleman at her side, sunk as far she could into her seat as her eyes widened in trepidation at him, as if fearing he was going to storm over to the bench and plug her between the eyes just for being in the same room with him.

The old man regarded him with a sarcastic grin, and the green leaf he had been chewing on, glistened grotesquely around ashen gray teeth. Though it reminded him of chewing tobacco, something he never felt repulsion looking at, he curled his lip up in disgust from behind his leather mask as his eyes refused to avert from staring at it. Glancing back at the receptionist with indifference, he blatantly remarked: "I think I'll stare at the wall."

The marksman didn't comment but departed from the desk with small glower clouding in his eyes before he turned towards the stone panorama. Giving his back to the desk, Erron retraced his steps back towards the door, making sure he was far away from the gawking pedestrians on the bench and the bitter employee at the desk. Black felt annoyance prick at his skin like needles, even thought he tried to ignore it, he could feel every pair of eyes on him. He didn't have to glance back to know what they were thinking, he had seen it before he approached the desk.

They looked at him like a wolf who had been raised to act like a dog; he was no threat at the moment, but it didn't help ease their nerves that the slightest offense could trigger him to attack. In all honesty, he felt like the equivalent of a circus exhibit. They all knew he didn't belong in the People's Court because of his high station as Emperor Kotal Kahn's bodyguard but there was nobody that agreed as passionately as Erron Black.

The corner of Black's mouth flicked up in irritation as he crossed his arms over his chest. Erron could feel their eyes on the back of his head, silently trying to figure out the reason he was summoned like the rest of the common folk on the bench. there was a thin man in rags, an graying prim dressed man wearing red and black silk robes, a young couple giddy with naïve hope of the future, and the little girl he would guess around ten years if they were in Earthrealm and her guardian who looked as if they had no relation to one another.

The gunslinger peered over his shoulder when he heard the faint humming coming from the latter pair. It grew louder in his ears but distant, like someone calling out to him in a deserted cobblestone tunnel. The ghost of the rhyme he heard as a child haunted him, and regrettably, he found the lyrics to the wordless tune he was hearing.

_The crooked man came again at the stroke of twelve  
That was when their crooked life became a living hell  
There was a crooked man and he walked a crooked mile  
_ _And when he killed his wife and kids he smiled a crooked smile_

The song extorted an image he had tucked away and wanted to forget. _A little girl, wearing her best white dress stained with blood, a blue ribbon that had once been tied in a bow, now unraveled in the dirt along with her dark, curly hair, dead blue eyes that stared up at him while the old man fled down the dirt road in the dead of the night..._

Black snapped out of it, and shot a stern gaze at them that was meant as a hint that he didn't appreciate the noise, but his steely look faltered when he looked down at the girl.

Instead of anxiety, there was nothing but fearlessness. Instead of huddling back into her seat, she sat as rigid as a scarecrow on its wooden post. It turned out he had also been mistaken about her being a part of the conversation; it was the other adults that had been talking about him, whispering around her and oblivious to the sudden, ominous change in her disposition. He damn well knew he heard humming, however. Her demeanor wasn't the _only_ thing he had noticed had changed and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, despite the strong resolute expression he regarded her.

Like sunlight hitting glacial ice, her blue eyes gleamed brightly with furtive humor at him from across the room. The girl stared at him like a book she already knew the ending to, and it momentarily unnerved him just like the sudden and drastic hue change in her eyes had. A sly smile curved across her face at him like a painter's brush stroke, one he would have mistaken for as a friendly gesture if not for the way her eyes, almost strategically, left his and scaled up towards the mural hanging over 'Violence.'

More out of curiosity, his own blue eyes followed towards the mural. The sharpshooter looked at the sculpture, sponging in every detail to unearth why the blue-eyed girl wanted him to look at this one in particular. Unlike the other Laws, Violence was vague and the paragraphs on the snakes muscled side helped clarify why the serpent reared up at the dangerous stone men who looked up in fright at the Leech Python who exposed its fangs and fanned its sides out like a cobra as its large body shielded the women and children from the men were trying to get to before the snake intervened; sheltered from their wrath and hidden behind the serpents' own.

_"All Free People have the right to defend themselves either by the city herself or by Kombat."_

Walking past the desk and refusing to acknowledge the guard standing post even though he knew he was staring at him, Erron continued to search for the clue she silently teased. If he didn't know any better, he could of sworn she was challenging him to a game of 'I Spy': "What do I see that you don't?"

There was more to the mural than the snake shielding the innocent bystanders. Another giant python coiled another group of three men, agonizingly squeezing them together in its grasp. Inscribed on its body was: _"The wrathful shall suffer the same as the free person they violate or harm."_

Just like the stone men in the snake's spiral trap, Black tightened his arms around his chest as an agitated exhale ghosted across the inside of his face mask. The answer to her riddle continued to elude him, and every theory he offered up that it had something to do with the words chiseled on the wall, felt incorrect.

He reviewed the mural again and landed on the woman and the child at her side, hiding behind the muscled coils of their venomous protector. The gunslinger's arms dropped as the answer announced itself as loud as a call from a ram's horn.

The girl in the painting looked exactly like the one on the bench. The answer was as obvious as it was unsatisfying, like the punch line to a lackluster joke. The girl was laughing at a mirror reflection of herself and toying with him in the process.

"The Barristers will see you now," called the smug, gruff voice of the guard outside the Property door. His eyebrows connected into a hard line at the guard's tone that reverberated around every square inch of the building, as if he was trying to let every single plebian know that he, Kotal Kahn's guard, was truly being called to a People's Court.

Looking over his shoulder, he projected his annoyance at the guard dressed in black at the door. The stocky guard's coily, greasy hair hung framed his silent arrogant demeanor at Black's discontent expression. Despite the far distance across the lobby that separated the mercenary and guard, it would have been easy to kill the distance and pistol whip the look off his face before he knew Erron Black was even on him. It was the second time in mere minutes he had been the subject of childish provocation, and his temper bristled.

Regardless, he walked calmly towards the guard and the door, although the thought of grabbing the sentry by the neck and kneeing him to the face was a tempting image. It was petty and beneath him, so instead he opted with a placid stride in retaliation. The guard frowned at him as he approached, aware that he had not gotten a reaction and stabbed at the Earthrealmer's ego the way he had hoped.

Erron stopped in his tracks as he tried passing the front desk, and a bony hand shot out and grabbed him by the wrist. Immediately, the gunslinger's revolver was cocked back and the barrel aimed at the skeletal secretary. The commoners on the bench jumped, except the little girl that had fallen asleep and the older man was having trouble rousing her awake. The guard pulled his sword from the scabbard at his hip and barked a command at him that he didn't hear, mainly because he was staring into the cerulean eyes of the receptionist— the same eyes as the one on the little girl just moments ago.

"I see you in the mural as well, Erron Black," the old man chimed with teasing smirk. The gunslinger's eyes narrowed in displeased confusion at the blue eyed demon now speaking through the old man. The light azure eyes sparkled with a playful intellect like a sphinx: "Which one do you think you still are? The vice, or the shield?"

Without averting his devilish gaze, the possessed receptionist hummed the nursery rhyme at him.

"What the hell do you want?" the gunman growled impatiently at the specter.

The elder counterperson blinked his eyes, and the split second he opened them, the cerulean was gone and brown glared at him with impatience; the guard was at his side with the sword in his hand.

"I said: You _will_ leave your weapons at the desk before entering the room," he demanded as his cold eyes stabbed at him. His wrinkled his ring finger, reached inside his bottom lip, and fished out the chewed leaf before he rolled it into a wet ball and tossed it into the small clay pot by his feet on his side of the desk. With his fingers coated in his own saliva and tiny particles of the masticated mint, he held his palm up towards the hired gun and curled his fingers at him like a tarantula on its back.

"Remove your firearms, or Oyuun will do so for you," the clerk repeated with the side of his lip curled up. The guard, Oyuun, made a move for the lone gun still in Black's holster. Without removing his gaze from the lobby's receptionist, Black had his other revolver out of his holster, pulled the hammer back and pointed it at the guard who wilted and stopped dead in his tracks as Erron placed the tip of the revolver under his chin.

" _No one_ removes 'em but me," The mercenary warned with a dangerously low tone. Black could feel the tip of the gold gun's barrel bounce as the guard clenched his teeth with indignation.

With a conceited gloat shining in his eyes as he looked briefly from the startled spectators on the bench, the un-entertained man at the desk and the worried guard, he smiled like a sly fox under his mask and un-cocked his revolvers. Spinning them back into his holsters, his fingers traveled to his belt and unbuckled it as his eyes stared bluntly into the dissatisfied older man.

Black removed his belt and placed it on the desk, but not before removing his hand from the sand grenades on the back of the belt. His hat tipped towards the old man like an angry bull as his eyes drilled into him like a blunt screw.

"If I find a speck of green on them, dirt will be the next thing you'll be gnawin' on," he threatened with deadly sincerity.

Lifting his foot up quickly, he snatched the knife handle inside his boot and buried the tip into the wooden table faster than they could blink. Both men, as well as the people on the bench, jumped as soon as the steal knife nailed itself into the wood. The Outworlders regarded him with rattled but adverse looks as they all tried to decipher the meaning to Erron Black's sudden spectacle.

The Earthrealm bodyguard shrugged as he castigated each of them with a haughty gleam in his eyes. "You didn't ask, but I'm sure you'd want the knife as well?"

None of them said anything, even though he did hear the gray-haired receptionist scoff as Black walked with the guard towards the room. Even if the moment was brief, and it ended the moment he stepped foot through the wooden door of the Property's trial room, Erron felt the weight of his preeminence all around the room and on each of their shoulders. He had reminded them he was no peasant, he was not on the same level as them even if they were in the same judicial predicament, and he would not allow himself to let them judge him as lowly as they were.

Internally gloating about reminding them how high his station was above them, however, was short-lived, when he recalled the demon and its words to him. The Kahn's hireling, glanced over his shoulder at the mural once again before the door closed. _"I see you in the mural as well, Erron Black. Which one do you think you still are? The vice, or the shield?"_

He was damn sure that he didn't see any granite men wearing a Stetson, so that left the snakes. All it did was leave him with even more questions: What was it getting at calling him a snake? What was the point of the goddamn stupid question? What did, and how did, that thing know about Sallie and 'The Crooked Man?' His real name was Victor Böhnisch, but he preferred to call him what the Sallie had called him because of how accurate it had been. He was crooked, inside and out and she had not been the first one to find that out, but she was the last.

Luckily, he didn't have to ponder on Sallie and the Crooked Man for too long, he never did anyway, and saved the puzzle for a later time as the door closed behind him, and he joined other five people waiting for him in the room.

The room was smaller than what he would have expected, and the people that occupied the desks made the onyx colored room even more claustrophobic. The Barristers seated at the long dark table in the middle of the chamber, in front of the window with torches adjacent on both sides, looked at him with stoic faces.

All three of them dressed identically in black robes with evergreen sashes that draped across their chest from their shoulder to their hips. Each of them were vastly different in appearance and age, but all three of them looked at him with complete equal antipathy like he was looking at Cerberus, instead of three separate individuals.

At the far left end, the thin Edenian kept his angular face as still as a wooden puppet carved for eternity to be melancholy. The young, handsome, chiseled face seemed completely out of place amongst his older co-workers as his brown eyes stared diffidently at him. He looked more like an apprentice than a qualified litigator.

Erron's eyes slid over to the Barrister in the middle, a much older Edenian, who he couldn't help notice, reflected some of the younger Barrister's facial features despite how much his wrinkles tried to cover the resemblance. This Edenian regarded him like a seasoned mongoose sizing up a juvenile cobra, and his sharp, calculating eyes already informed Erron that there was an unimpressed opinion about the Kahn's guard dancing around in his head.

Immediately, Black knew the Barrister in the middle was his least favorite of the three. The older Edenian derisive eyes never left his as the Barrister raised a palm and smoothed back the right side of his head and over the silver patch of hair that wrapped from ear to ear around his head like a Roman laurel crown, before his slick onyx colored hair was pulled back into a ponytail. The man looked like a damn badger dressed in silk and the only simple impression that Black could come to about him, was that he was probably a complete prick.

The last Barrister, seated on the far right, held no resemblance to the other two and was older than both of them by far. This man was undoubtedly an Outworlder since he lacked the clean patrician appearance of the other two males. The portly man glanced at him briefly, and Erron noticed that his hickory colored eyes were as tired and lifeless as rotten autumn leaves. His large fingers scratched his greasy scalp and unknowingly tugged a few brown and white strands from the knot tied tightly at the back of his head. With his exhausted eyes still fixed on the paper he had in front of him, he lifted his fingers to his teeth and chewed on his dirty fingernails like a beaver with a piece of timber.

Out of all of the counselors he had before him, Erron's only hope was the fat one who seemed to regard him with the most unbiased opinion— mainly because he didn't look like he gave a damn if he was an Earthrealmer or not. The Mongoose was the easiest to read out of all of them, and all he did was reaffirm Erron's prediction that they would find him guilty before even stepping foot into the room. The Puppet to his left would no doubt agree with every decision his elder Edenian made, and the Beaver would agree just because he _was_ guilty.

To his right, he could already feel Tama's snide smile on him even though he ignored her as if she and Hulin were not even in the room. Black, however, did turn towards their direction and narrowed his eyes at the Edenian torturer. His cynical blue eyes met his as the gunman flashed him a disapproving look. What was he doing here? At Tama's right side, Hulin replied with an indifferent shrug before Erron shook his head lightly and turned away.

No one spoke as the marksman's eyes dropped to the floor in boredom as he crossed his arms over his chest and looked at his shoes and then let his eyes wander over the gray slate floor of the office. To his left, his eyes stopped roving when they landed on the pair of rusted iron manacles and the chains that were screwed into the floor.

Despite that the shackles had escaped his notice up until now, what hadn't was Norah's lack of presence in the room — which he assumed who they were all still waiting for. He couldn't help but be bothered by how ominous it felt that she _wasn't_ in the chains, scathing at him and alive, then missing from the court. After all, the entire thing was about her. It was only logical that she be present as well.

Standing in the room in silence, Black let out a sigh as he tapped his fingers to an internal beat impatiently against the side of his thigh. An uncomfortable silence hovered over the room, making the air as dense as a pile of hard packed snow. The muscles in his jaw twitched as he raised a demanding single eyebrow at the Barristers, silently prodding for an answer. What the hell were they waiting for?

A knock at the door behind him caused him to glance over his shoulder the same time the older Edenian Barrister called out: "Enter."

The first sound he heard wasn't the door opening, or the sound of shuffling feet or the door creaking on its hinges, although he really wished it had been any of those things. The first sound he did hear, the one that frown heavily behind his mask, was noise of the enslaved girl's painful gasp as she entered the room.

It was the first time he recalled since meeting her in the tavern, that she didn't regard him with malice in her demeanor. Black would have preferred malice, anything that would have indicated she was in her usual state of mind when they crossed paths. All he saw was torment written on every inch of her face, and he wasn't only referring to the red and black tender spots that had been painted on her face — and recently by the looks of it.

Black didn't want to think it, but as he looked at her and noted her strange almost improvised attire that consisted of a dirty moss green blanket with holes for her neck and arms, and tied with a rope around her waist, the only conclusion he could reach was that she had been sexually attacked. However, it was only her torso that was covered with a makeshift poncho. Her skirt was torn, revealing her bare feet and one of her legs poking through the long slit, and because he didn't see any red hand-shaped bruises on the inside of her thigh or blood trailing down the inside, he reconsidered his previous thought, especially when she finally did look him in the eye.

Her green eyes, heavy with terrified tears but still cognitive about what was going on, looked at him briefly before her face twisted in anger as she let out a bitter scoff from her swollen lips. Black could almost hear her thoughts: _"Not **you** again._ _"_

She disclosed to him that it was _exactly_ what she was thinking by sharply raising her eyebrows before lifting the back of her hand towards her chin to wipe the trail of blood that ran from her cut bottom lip. All it did was leave a smeared zig-zag crimson river all along her chin. It was all he needed to get a clear answer: She _had_ been attacked, but not raped; he was certain she wouldn't have been as ornery towards him if she had. Her thoughts would have been still replaying her hell over and over in her mind; trapped in a swirling maelstrom of horribleness. Regarding him with a disdainful disposition would have been the last thing on her mind if she had been seriously violated. Still, it didn't make him feel any better about seeing her in her battered state.

"Was she fucked? Is that why we were waiting as long as we were?"

His fist, the same one that had was clenched since he entered the room, became white-knuckled as his fingernails dug into his palm as Tama's voice sent needles of annoyance pricking at his skin. The bruised baker, the heavy set Barrister, and even the guard that brought her in, shot petulant stares towards the older woman at her callous inquiry. Her complete lack of empathy for her condition was distasteful to the men as it was clearly indifferent to Tama. Even Hulin seemed to disagree with her as a disapproving frown heavily descended across his face. Erron Black looked over at him with a suspicious gaze. The presence of her bruises and attire seemed to disesteem him completely as he looked at her like a hungry, but a snobbish man with a rotten piece of fruit; contemplating if he was hungry enough to dare to take a bite.

The muscles in the Vault guard's square jaw twitched with anger as he looked at the female palace employee with an aversive regard. The Ex-Earthrealmer was actually somewhat surprised by his appearance, out of all the men in the room, he had the most mystery about him, especially as he stilled Norah with a soft but steadying grip on her shoulder when she tried to move towards Tama. He guessed he was a mutt: half Earthrealmer and Outworlder. He could see the mixture of his genetics from his round, experienced russet brown eyes and tanned olive complexion darkened by the Outworld sun. With is opposite hand, the reached across and scratched his dark stubble with his fingernails before he curled his lip at the woman.

"She was not, although your concern is _staggering_ ," the spiteful sarcasm in his husky voice was enough for Erron to raise an incredulous eyebrow at. It also hadn't escaped Black's notice, that he had chosen not to put her in shackles and if not for the almost friendly way he held her, he would have simply guessed it was because she was going into irons the minute she walked in the room. So why bother? However, after his statement, he questioned if he didn't manacle her for another reason. What had he missed while he was in the Kuatan Jungle?

"Thank you, Jan Fai," droned the middle Barrister with disinterest. "Escort her to the chains."

Jan Fai simply nodded his head in compliance though his eyes flashed at the Barrister with contempt as he led her down the space that separated the two prosecutors and the defense. Her hair, now tangled with dirt and grease, hung over her face like a funeral veil as she walked past Black, Tama, and Hulin. The Beaver pulled out blank parchments, a quill and a jar of ink the same time the Mongoose had from beneath the desk. The Puppet just stared at Norah's bruises, oblivious to his older relative's stern gaze.

"Take notes, Tooraj," The Mongoose reminded with a disappointed scowl. The younger man nodded, pulled out his own tools and muttered: "Yes Uncle."

"Can we begin now, Azad, now that we are all convened?" questioned the larger Barrister with an impatient huff as he leaned his back against the wooden chair.

Erron glanced over as the guard clicked the final manacled to her wrist. There was hardly any chain length, which forced her to sit on her knees with her ironed wrists hanging limply in her lap. Norah didn't look at Black even though he could tell she was aware of his eyes on her as he stared at her and the young guard. Their thoughts were miles away at the moment, and it wasn't hard to see the bleak embarrassment she felt, but Black still continued to deduce _why_ the guard reciprocated her look.

"Yes, Haker," the Mongoose answered. The gunslinger and Azad regarded each other and Black lowered his eyebrows into a defensive line as his conniving eyes looked the Kahn's bodyguard up and down for a moment before a spiteful half-smile darted on his face. "We can as soon as Mr. Black is _presentable_."

Black's hands dropped slowly to his hips and hovered his fingertips over where the butts of his revolvers always stuck out of his holsters; he knew they weren't there, but he couldn't help himself. It was a common habitual reflex he used for only two reasons: to be ready to draw and shoot for defense, or because somebody needed a bullet in their head. Erron had been mistaken before: the Barrister wasn't _probably_ a complete prick, he definitely _was_ a complete prick, and it's what the bounty hunter would have written on a bullet intended for him.

"I don't think I heard you," The gunslinger snarled as he grappled his hips casually with both hands.

The Barrister that had offended him regarded him with an unimpressed smile as his eyes took note of the placement of his hands.

His stance was authoritative and cocksure, and the Barrister snorted at it. "You are not in the Kahn's court, Mr. Black, you are in the _People's_ Court. Highly regarded as you may be to the Emperor, as soon as you passed through those doors, you are one of the people of Outworld. Your title holds no weight, and you _will_ abide the rules as everyone else must. It is simply courtesy."

Even though his voice was strong and sturdy, the gun for hire breathed hotly through his nostrils. "You wanna make your goddamn point?" He could see the amusement in his eyes, and he wished he had his guns at the moment so he could put a bullet right between them.

"We are all equal here, Mr. Black,"— Azad glanced over at Norah—"Even slaves. For you to acknowledge that you respect this court, we ask that you willingly _present_ it to us. As I said before: You are not in the Kahn's court, and you will stop hiding behind your occupation and present yourself as a compliant participant to our rules."

Erron already had his nasty comeback prepared to leave his lips and would have gotten it out if not for the Outworlder who was just as exasperated with the egotistical weasel as much as Black was.

"Enough prattle, Azad, I do not have the patience for your voice today," Haker intervened thankfully. He addressed Black with a straightforward tone: "He means the mask and the hat. He likes to be able to read people as we judge him — it upsets him when he can do neither. He also despises hats."

Black scoffed lightly at the simple explanation but enjoyed the hell out of how quickly Azad's face turned red as he turned and regarded Haker. The Outworlder didn't look at him and didn't care about how furiously he stared at him. All Haker whispered to him as he picked up his quill was: "At least pretend to act like a Barrister for your nephew."

The amusement he derived from their obvious rivalry was short-lived as Azad turned his sour glare towards Black — waiting. He casually lifted his hat off his head, before his fingers went to unclasp the mask quickly but calmly. He refused to express how much he disliked being forced to remove both, especially when it was for such a stupid reason.

With his face revealed, steely and reserved much to Azad's disappointment, he placed his leather mask inside his hat. "Could have just said so. Would have been easier than the bullshit you were jawin' on about."

Without looking, he tossed his upside down hat at the guard by Norah like a horseshoe. Jan Fai caught it easily, and as soon as he did Erron nodded sharply at him: "Don't wrinkle it."

Erron placed his hands in his pockets and lifted his chin. "Can we start now?" The mercenary grumbled before he picked up his eyebrows at the red-faced Mongoose. "Or do you want the poncho and boots off too?"

Haker suppressed a cough in his throat that sounded suspiciously like an airy chuckle. Tooraj shuffled in his seat and rolled the white spine of his blue feathered quill anxiously between his fingertips.

Azad said nothing, but there was a silent promise of revenge for his discomfiture as he picked up his pen. "We will begin by addressing the allegation brought forth by Tsho Tama. Barrister Tooraj will notate that both conflicting parties are present in person as well as write down their responses to the Tsho's allegations. You will also record the names of the other parties in attendance— who will state their names for the record now."

Tooraj nodded towards Hulin first, and it was the only time the boy seemed confident about anything he was doing.

"Han Shun Hulin," addressed the fellow Edenian simply.

"Occupation and relevance to this case?" Tooraj questioned.

"Palace employee and witness," Hulin answered. There was silence except for the sound of pen scratching before Tooraj nodded towards Jan Fai. Before the younger Barrister could ask, Jan Fai gave him a cynical frown and raised an eyebrow; as if quietly berating him before he even asked the question.

"Jan Fai, Vault Guard and prisoner overseer. Also, the prisoner is present as well," Tooraj mumbled to himself as he scrawled the quill over the parchment. Norah's lip curled up in anger.

"Barrister Haker, you will read the allegation aloud, now," Azad informed with a mellow tone, his quill pen ready to take notes. "Then we will discuss the validity between the two parties and conclude with a final decision."

Haker peeled his back from his wooden chair and sat upright. His fingers reached for the parchment as the Edenian boy continued to write every action taking place within the room with attentive discipline. Black's hand began to hurt just watching him write so fast and wondered how he could write so neatly without smearing ink all over the page.

"Submission of allegation dated 16 days before court appearance— due to the accused, Erron Black, absent from on assignment from the Emperor. The document was filled out by the plaintiff, Tsho Tama. Offense done to the plaintiff was one of property theft. The property in question is a female indentured servant who signed a contract with the plaintiff. The contract was notarized by the Court. We have the contract present, which I will now read out loud."

Haker moved his papers around the desk and pulled one up to eye level. His huge fingers gingerly handled it, and the look on his face when he flipped it over, made him look as anxious as a drunk manhandling delicate porcelain. Black didn't blame him; the paper was abnormally brittle and thin, almost transparent. The rain clouds that had hovered above him on his journey here had already begun to depart the desert city, and the sun blazed through the window, onto the paper and inflamed the black words written on the other side.

The fragility of the document was odd, but it wasn't until he glanced in Norah's direction, and saw the confusion that unfolded across her face, did Erron consider that perhaps it was too _odd_ , to be something he could brush aside.

"This Indenture and signature authenticates that between the grantor party, Norah, and the grantee party Tsho Tama, has agreed to voluntarily put herself of her own free will and accord to become servant to Tsho Tama and the requisites detailed in this contract. By signing this agreement, the indebted acknowledges these requirements and her willingness to comply. If the indebted chooses to object to all assigned duties and/or leaves without permission from the contract holder to do so, indebted is no longer seen fit to uphold the terms and conditions of the contract and shall be executed and/or punished in a manner seen fit by the contract holder. These requisites include the following."

Haker cleared his throat. "Indebted shall remain under the employment of the contract holder, provided with food, clothing and lodging for a duration equaling 20 Earthrealm years. At the conclusion of her employment as both a baker and cupbearer in the Kahn's palace, both parties may choose to either extend the contract or terminate it."

So far, Erron noticed that Norah didn't react to what the Barrister had said, which meant there was nothing nefarious about the contract besides how thin it was. At least nothing yet.

"This shall be the duty of the indentured party unless for the following exemptions: If the indentured is able to buy the contract or if indebted is engaged to wed during their time of service, the indebted's husband or wife may choose to buy the contract."

Still no reaction but Erron did notice a definite change in her demeanor when the Barrister continued; her eyes darted back and forth with uncertainty as if the words were alien to her.

"Lastly, and also by signing this contract, the indebted has avowed her chasteness, and with her permission, grants Tsho Tama the approval to sell it to an interested party for a negotiated fee. Henceforth, the indebted will be permanently obligated to fulfill the needs of the purchaser until the indebted's death or surrender of the contract to another vendee."

Black knew instantly the contract was horseshit for two reasons: The baker who had proven to him through her conversations with him to be so stubborn and prude would have _never_ signed a contract with the last statement written on it. She was compulsive, sure, and it caused her to think irrationally when she was angry, but she would have never made such a stupid mistake to prostitute herself willingly, even if Tama dangled death over her head. The other reason was Norah's furious volcanic reaction the moment she heard it.

She flew to her feet so fast it made a fired cannonball look slow, but screamed in frustration when the manacles held her back. With her knees bent and her arms akimbo thanks to the irons, she spat venomous, and colorful words at Tama, Black had never once heard her utter before. It even made the younger Barrister shrink in his chair uneasily just overhearing it all. Erron didn't blame or criticize her for her outburst; it was understandable, and he would have reacted with more than words if he had found out he had been duped.

"That is _NOT_ the contract I signed!" She hollered, her voice beginning to grow hoarse but relentlessly vehement as Tama stared at her with as single raised eyebrow, although her conniving eyes glinted with a winner's smile at her.

Tama shrugged innocently," It is not my fault you did not read it correctly. I did not force your hand."

"You lying bitch!"

"Jan Fai," Azad sighed with exasperation, "Silence her."

The Vault guard came to her side, and as gentle as he could be, he forced her back to her knees with a firm push.

She violently shrugged her shoulder, knocking his hand off: "Let go of me!" she spat, seething as her chest rose up and down with each heated exhalation through her bared teeth. The guard backed away, allowing her space, but stood at alertness in case Norah wanted to spring to her feet again.

"I may not have been part of what they did to you, but you deserved _every_ bit of torment you received," the female Earthrealmer snarled at her with an angry whisper. "Especially after all that you have done to Abigail."

Erron's curious eyes slid over towards Tama's direction, and even he had to admit, he didn't think she was capable of expressing anything that resembled being disquiet. There was a frown on her face, but her eyes betrayed her as she blinked them in rapid succession. For the briefest of moments, before Tama managed to garner her emotions back into her internal Pandora's box, Erron saw trepidation as her mind raced with an unknown reverie that Norah's words had conjured. Black made a mental note to ask the Baker what she meant one day because it certainly stirred his eagerness to uncover the enigma of the 'torment' she referred to.

The corner of his mouth twitched briefly to the side when Norah had acknowledged a missing puzzle piece: the old woman he had also rescued from Tama's tendrils that day. Black didn't need to ponder long on what he suspected had happened to the elderly woman; Norah's rage, her absence and the lack of even the briefest of confessions from Tama that he had taken _two_ items she owned. The mercenary looked over to Norah as her head hung towards her knees and her cradled hands. Teardrops fell from her face, hot and angry and it confirmed what he already knew.

The old woman was dead.

What had happened since he was away?

After silence passed over the room, one that helped swallow the awkward pause that her tantrum had produced, Haker placed Tama's contract aside and picked up another document. Out of all the people in the room, he was the one that showed no reaction to her objection. While everyone else regarded the slave girl with either disdain, melancholy, or in Hulin's empathic casualness, all he did was sit there with a bland disposition while he mentally took notes — and even scribbled a few while Norah had directed her resentment towards Tama.

"The transgression made by Erron Black according to the testimony given by both Tsho Tama and Han Shun Hulin states: Mr. Black removed the servant from the quarters of Tsho Tama, demanded the contract without payment, and threatened the contract holder to hand it over by the time he returned to the palace. Erron Black escorted the servant out of the palace walls and took her to an undisclosed location until she was discovered 2 days prior to the trial trying to exit the city gates. Due to the guidelines of the contract that both parties agreed upon and the eyewitness testimony provided by Han Shun Hulin, it is a property violation based on key arguments: Erron Black verbally informed Tsho he refused to pay for the contract and that the servant did not complete her service, left the palace without the permission of her contract holder, nor established any contact with her employer to inform her that she intended to complete her services or pay her debt."

The Barrister continued, picking up the paper to eye level. "The plaintiff, Tsho Tama, is seeking reparations against both Erron Black, and her servant who Tsho accuses was an accomplice since she 'willingly departed with Mr. Black' and therefore, broke the terms of her contract."

Azad smiled darkly, "Mr. Black," he began, his name spat at him sourly as they left his lips. "Do you have any evidence to bring forth that disputes the accusation that you stole property _without_ the approval of the contract holder?"

"I did not break my contract — because that was _not_ the contract that I signed!" argued the cupbearer. "And I did not leave with him willingly!"

Erron rolled his eyes. _Not the first time, but I didn't hear you hollerin' for me to stop when I got your friend out, either._

He knew he couldn't really berate her for trying to save her own skin, even though Black could sense how hopeless she knew it had to be as well. Her voice was hostile, but there was a sullen meekness that still came through that she couldn't hide. It was almost as if she knew she was wasting her breath, but was still trying to persuade them of her innocence regardless.

Haker raised a single eyebrow in her direction as Azad scoffed dubiously at her. "Yet you did not return back to the palace after Mr. Black _forced_ you to leave. That fact alone suggests that you had no interest in upholding your side of the bargain you struck— especially after you tried departing the city and failed."

Norah turned her head away and clamped her lips together. She had nothing because she knew he was right and felt bitterly humiliated as the Barrister continued to look down and reprimand her like a disobedient child.

"You will not be able to sponge away that mistake, I'm afraid. However, if Mr. Black has evidence that proves you did leave with him _unwillingly_ , then I am content with accepting it, taking it into account so you may have at least one transgression that will _not_ be marked against you."

"Well, Mr. Black. Do you have anything but your word?" Azad raised a single, skeptical eyebrow as he turned towards him.

Black said nothing but stared at him as irritated as a rattlesnake whose tail he stepped on. Both men knew he couldn't answer.

No, Erron had no evidence and knew there was no way to talk or shoot his way out of changing their minds. All he wanted was for them to get to the sentencing; his impatience was already boiled to the brim the more they dragged it out.

Although, Haker's interest in how adamantly she protested the genuineness of the contract, made him reconsider if he _should_ speak up and join her in protest. It was tempting; it was the single string that could unravel Tama's truthfulness and corrupt the Barrister's perception of her and her claim.

His rational thoughts returned though, and the gunslinger knew it was useless. It was pyrite against Tama's bar of gold; her indisputable evidence that could do anything but tip the scale towards her. Azad was already convinced and the Puppet said nothing while he continued to write down what was happening in the room as strictly as a monk in an abbey. The only one left that still doubted the things he had heard and observed turned to the servant in the chains.

"Do you have a copy of this contract that you signed with your employer that a guard can retrieve?" The Outworld Barrister asked her.

It was a plain, simple question that contained no trace of bias towards what he hoped she would answer. Barrister Haker just wanted to scratch off the only discrepancy he could find before he made his decision.

With heavy shame wrinkling her face, begrudgingly, she shook her head before casting her eyes to the ground; a tear dropped and soaked into her skirt. "I was never given a copy of my contract."

Haker jotted down a note with an unconvinced frown the same time Tama smiled briefly in triumph like barracuda that swam upon a wounded fish.

_So much for that,_ Black thought to himself.

Silence once again descended upon the courtroom, except from the Barristers that whispered amongst each other. Erron could tell that the trial was coming to its closure as they looked over their notes. It was a brief deliberation, and when they raised their eyes up from the pieces of paper on the desk they shared, he could tell they were convinced about the verdict. It was time to cut the bullshit— his time had been wasted enough today.

"I already know what's coming," Erron Black declared. With his hands rested on his hips and his spine straight, he nodded his head daringly at the three men sitting behind the safety of their desk and titles— challenging them to take their best shot. "Just get to it."

Azad gave a small roll of his eyes before he turned to his nephew first.

Tooraj raised his right hand and tapped it twice on the desk, filling the room with the soft patter of his palm slapping the wood. Azad turned to Haker, who mimicked the younger Edenian.

The older Edenian Barrister knocked his knuckle against the wood twice and smirked in Black's direction. "All three members of this committee find you guilty, Mr. Black. We will discuss restitutions for Tsho Tama, now."

"You may debate the fairness of them as well. As long as the plaintiff agrees they are acceptable, we will consider them," Haker contributed, his tone blasé. Azad clicked his tongue, almost as if disappointment that Haker had let that information slip. Tama danced lightly from foot to foot in anticipation and smirked like a child who was about to receive a long-awaited gift.

"By request of Tsho Tama," Azad said as he read from the paper on the desk," Mr. Black will escort Tsho's servant back to the Palace, where upon arrival he will pay a sums of 5,000 in gold coins for the time lost when the servant has been away. The servant is to sign a new contract since she voided the last, and will receive one lash by whip for each day lost."

Erron's mouth twisted into a scowl the same time a wide-eyed Norah let out a sardonic and pithy laugh of disbelief. He wasn't certain if she was laughing bitterly about being whipped, or having to sign another contract, regardless she looked about as happy as he was.

Almost as if he had read his mind, Haker slapped his left hand upon the table once and interrupted him before Erron could open his mouth to protest. "5,000 in gold is too much for 16 days of lost wages."

Tooraj also did the same, shrugging mildly as he looked at his uncle. "I agree. At most it should be 100 in bronze according to Tsho Tama's contract. Even if she _is_ a cup-bearer."

Black allowed himself to relax his shoulders as Azad, who knew he was outnumbered, slapped his right hand as well. "Very well. Tsho Tama your reparations have been called into question. Please explain why you should be awarded the sum."

Tama scoffed. "Erron Black can afford it, and _I_ find it suitable."

Black knew exactly why he was being charged 5,000 in gold and why Tama had requested that he escort her back to the Emperor's palace. She wanted both of them to replay the memory of how she arrived in the palace to begin with; it was nothing but a mind game.

Tama had paid him 5,000 in gold to get her, and now she was taking the opportunity to get it back, all the while knowing this time the journey back to the palace wouldn't be as easy on his conscious as it had been last time. Erron hadn't given a damn the first trip but now he knew he was escorting her to a place she dreaded, and it was his fault because he was the one that had tried to liberate her and make up for his previous mistake of taking her there to begin with. He wasn't the only one being punished with repetition, however.

The new contract she would be forced to sign, was Tama's cold dish to Norah that she would have no choice but to choke down a second time. The whipping was nothing but traditional whenever a slave broke their master's word, but Erron couldn't help but shake his head. She could have spared Norah they whip since it was up to the slave's owner whether they wanted it carried out or not. Of course Tama would have not missed the opportunity. It actually surprised him that Tama agreed to allow that punishment. If she was trying to sell her like the contract claimed, she must have known that having a scarred back wouldn't have been appealing. Or perhaps, she didn't care anymore nor did the buyer she already had in mind.

Azad shook his head, unconvinced. "You request is denied. Mr. Black will pay what is due. Are there any objections to anything else proposed?"

Black glanced at the Baker again, studying and trying to decode what she was feeling beyond the first conclusion he came to by just brief observations. Her hunched shoulders were still despite how hard she curled her fingers into white-knuckled fists in her lap. Erron could tell she was fearful, but her bruised body wasn't shaking with trepidation at the thought of the whip's bites, but what laid in her future. The only reason he was able to know this, was because of the way she briefly stared at Hulin.

Norah fidgeted, and she held her breath for a moment when Hulin curled his lips into a smile at her like a jackel before she turned her gaze to the floor. Her breathing began to pick up in speed as if some horrific realization was starting to dawn on her. Black's eyes slid over to Hulin as he lifted his chin, almost as if silently pleased by her terrified reaction. Tama seemed to enjoy it as well, for she let out a barely audible chuckle that only Black and Hulin heard.

_The crooked man came again at the stroke of twelve  
That was when their crooked life became a living hell  
There was a crooked man and he walked a crooked mile  
_ _And when he killed his wife and kids he smiled a crooked smile_

They _were_ going to make her life a living Hell—worse than before—and it was because of his stupidity. His posture slumped as he looked back at her, and realized how much of an architect of the second round of her new misery he had become; even if he was being forced to take part in it. Black raised his chin as if defiance against his own thoughts. There was no way to stop her from returning to the palace, but at least he could make it easier on her this second trip, and at least remove one of her burdens.

He was content with this first, _painful_ stepping stone.

"I'll take the lash," Black crossed his arms over his chest. "I think she's already been bashed around enough for one day."

The mercenary pointed a finger at Tama, who looked displeased with his proposal. She opened her mouth, preparing to spit something hateful at him, but he cut her off and pointed a finger at her.

"You ain't gettin' everything you want," he growled as his eyes narrowed scathingly at her. "Even though I think you got more than plenty. You want the 5,000? You got it. You can keep my loose change, you can even fill your tub with it and take a whore's bath in it— I don't give a shit."

Tooraj, who had been taking notes, pen came to a screeching halt across the parchment at Black's words. All three Barristers looked at him and began to doubt what they had heard come from the ruthless, penny-pinching, cold mercenary's mouth. Haker leaned back in his chair and folded his hands into a ball that rested on his stomach. Azad stared at him like an imbecile for a moment, before he sneered as the cogs in his brain and no doubt turned out some malicious thought. Tooraj gulped uncomfortably.

Erron turned to Norah, who could only stare at him with a flabbergasted look, even though there was still skepticism trying to burrow up from beneath the surface of her confusion. Black nodded his head at her and exhaled through his nose before he turned back to the three lawyers, his posture straight as he lowered his hand.

"I forced it on her. I get the whip," The gunslinger said. His voice was stubborn and imposing, even though he was aware they could decline it and there wouldn't be any way to persuade them otherwise.

Barrister Haker looked at the Edenian to his right who sat expressionless although tapped his fingers across the wood to the rhythm of a song he was playing in his head; contemplating. Tooraj fiddled with his thumbs, brushing them back and forth quickly as he looked at the other two Barristers for help.

Tama's eyes darkened as her once furious disposition dwindled and the redness disappeared from her face. Erron scoffed silently to himself. She was always the spider weaving a web to tangle others in, even if she didn't have the best of circumstances to work with. Her quiet plotting was obvious as it was annoying to him.

"Tsho, do you agree to Mr. Black's proposal?" Azad questioned nonchalantly, although it was sprinkled with interest at what her answer would be.

Tama bit her lip for a moment, almost as if she was about to reconsider her quickly devised plan she had made, but shook her head and replied: As long as an Earhtrealmer gets whipped, I have no objection."

Azad nodded his head in approval at her answer. "New restitutions for Tsho Tama will be that Mr. Black pays the original sum proposed and take the servant's place for the lashing. The previous unmentioned indemnities remain in place. Your verdicts, fellow Barristers?"

Tooraj tapped his right hand twice against the desk as soon as he was able to put the pen down. Azad and Haker did the same as well.

As soon as Barrister Haker's fingers left the table. Azad slapped his hands together, clapping as if it was a substitute for an Earthrealm gavel.

"To the Coliseum."


	23. Chapter 23

** Chapter 23 **   
**Once Upon a Time in the West  
Part 5  
 _Untouchables_**

* * *

**Atchison, Kansas**   
**1868**

On the stagecoach trail, Aaron had often contemplated the freedom that he thought being alone would have bestowed upon him. The boy had always considered the prospect to be full of choices, and he never was able to settle on just one plan for his future. Every one of them had been full of promise, full of adventure and the silent guarantee of liberation from the invisible shackles he felt around his ankles and hands. On his own, there would have been no soldiers to scold him or Zachariah to reprimand him for his mere existence, and no Abraham to be nothing but a constant disappoint to him.

Yes, the choices before him were endless, and he would have been able to have all of them at his fingertips, except for one important detail he had gravely overlooked. Aaron had unknowingly enlisted himself to be an outcast the moment he pulled the trigger.

He was only 7-years old, and the whole town knew he murdered his own father.

It turned out that the men who he had shown him fear and resentment during his stay in the jail were only a peek behind the curtain of what the gentle folk of Atchison thought about their latest bout of deadly spectacle to occur in their town. Aaron hadn't cared, nor thought about, what the townspeople outside of the jury opinion of him was. In truth, he hadn't even cared until rejection and uneasiness became the most dominant expressions on the adults of Atchison.

It was a week of torturous and disheartening experimentation that only granted him with few reprieves; small gestures of pity from the more Christian folk of Atchison. A warm meal here, an apple there, and one woman he would never know the name of or recognize in public, had given him a blue blanket in the middle of the night while he had been asleep outside the Livery. The boy wished he knew who it had been, because even though it was a kind gesture, it still made him feel more like a vagabond. At least if he knew who she was, he could pay her for it.

Funny enough, his biggest concern about being on his own was always money. He had been raised to believe that it was every man's amenity or downfall— just depended on the character of the owner. Whether they wanted to gain coin by traditional, hard working means, or covet it through the use of deplorable schemes. Worst case scenario, Aaron had always figured he would have to learn how to pick-pocket. However, his own trouser pockets weren't as hungry as he thought they would have been after a week on his own.

Except for a few dollars, he still had most of Abraham's charity tucked inside the pocket of his coat. Foolishly, he had never thought his age would have been a problem and it was beginning to become aggravating. Children were either treated with either repugnance or hospitality from his past observations and usually, it was the latter whenever it was anyone besides him. Perhaps it was because the older folk didn't see a child when they looked at him.

Sitting on a thick branch high in an elm tree that overlooked the schoolhouse and main center of Atchison not too far in the distance, the boy watched as kids his age exited the green door of the white building. Camouflaged by the emerald leaves, he frowned heavily as he leaned the back of his head against the tree's base. Even before Abraham and the town he couldn't even remember the name of, he seldom got along with any of the other children. The banker's boy, who was younger than him, called him a 'whore's carpetbag' and the banker's brat ended up with a broken nose and a black eye after that comment. The girls, who belonged to more respectable families, shuffled away from him like he was going to pull out a pistol and plug them all. Still, they all had the gull to mutter something inaudible, but certainly spiteful about him under their breath as they walked away.

Using his deer antler knife, he whittled lazily at the twig he broke off as they passed by his tree. They didn't see him, and he was glad, because if they had, they would have thought twice before uttering what they said.

"Ma' said she still sees him around."

"Who?" asked the blonde haired girl as her braids bounced against both of her shoulder-blades.

"The coach boy," answered the brown haired boy who stood taller than all of them.

The third child of the small group, a skinny red-haired runt, chuckled and added in a heavy accent: "Do you think if I pay 'em, he'll shoot my Da'? Drunken sod, could use it!"

"Don't be stupid, William," the girl snapped at the Irish lad. "You don't have any money."

"I can get some. My Ma' keeps a stash under the mattress," William shrugged.

Aaron rolled his eyes as he began shaving the stick into a spear tip; each stroke fast and heated as they walked out of range. Despite their mocking conversation, it didn't bother him as much as it used to anymore. At least, that was what he preferred to think.

Deep down, he knew it was yet another cut at his self-pride; a meager one in comparison to the lashes the adults gave him, but still pained nonetheless. He wasn't sure what was different about this time; if it was because he was in a different city, if the circumstances were different, or because he was alone. Or maybe it was all those reasons balled up into one. However, the heaviest weight in that conglomeration was the fact that he was alone.

His mother was the only one he needed to listen to, and not the harsh and ignorant remarks of others— that was what she had always told him. For the first time, she was not around to remind him of that, and it only made it easier for the people of Atchison's words to bury in deeper.

Using the back of his sleeve, he wiped away the stubborn tear that fell unwanted from his eye and tried to forget the melancholy thoughts regarding his mother. Bitterly, he focused on the wood in his hand, what was present in the moment, and tried to wander his mind away from the ghosts that still haunted him. Still, the boy couldn't exorcise them all away, and he stopped carving to let his tears from his frustrating week fall out.

His mother was not here to tell him that the hotel owner was wrong to deny him a room to stay him…

_"I ain't renting outta room to some fuckin' little back-shootin' killer. Go sleep with the horses if they'll take ya'..."_

She was not there to console him when the man wouldn't sell him a horse even though he had the money...

_"Get out of my sight before anyone sees you. You're bad for business— especially with money that don't belong to you."_

And she would never be there again to remind him that he was not alone…

"Why are you crying?"

Aaron paused when he heard the small, feminine voice from below. Looking down and between the branches, he frowned when he saw a pair of cobalt eyes gazing up at him from below. The girl looked around his age, but he could tell mentally she was years younger than him based on her doe-eyed expression. There was no timidity in her eyes, just curiosity, as she looked up at him from the ground.

Dressed in a long-sleeved white dress that was paired with black stockings and shoes that were as dark and clean as her curly hair, she gave off the appearance of a picturesque child that any mother would coddle to death, and a father would love to dote on. Aaron knew nothing about her, but could tell that she was everything he would never be, and the thought alone made him scowl at her. Her company only reminded him once again of his loneliness.

"What are you doing up in the tree?" she questioned. Aaron had never seen the ocean, but he figure that the waters on both sides of the continent were as wide and blue as her's were; it made her look so childish, and it annoyed him.

Aaron rolled his eyes at her. It didn't escape his notice that she also carried a small white sack with her that she lifted up in his direction. "Do you like peppermint sticks?"

He stared at the bag as if she was offering him a bag full of grasshoppers. After the week he had endured, this offering was perplexing. Even when the other people of Atchison were giving him sympathetic gifts, he could still tell they were apprehensive. There was something slightly different with her, and he couldn't place it, but it made his stomach worm.

Aaron also had never seen this girl in the schoolhouse, nor in any other part of town. He paused and thought about why that was. Perhaps _that_ was the reason she was so kind to him—maybe she was new. Still, it was an odd change of pace that he was having a difficult time adjusting to regardless of the other times he had gotten lucky. She didn't seem afraid of him, and he figured it was because she was ignorant of what he was, but she was still projecting an overly-kind-hearted smile like the others who had been aware of his crime and that made her distrust her innocent and ignorant look even more.

When she didn't receive an answer, her blue eyes dimmed behind her dark eyelashes the same time she touched the pink ribbon tied in a bow that kept her hair together. Her fingers smoothed over the tails of the ribbon, brushing it until it was smooth as the wind softly tossed the black mop of curls sitting upon her crown. The sudden concern for her bow was strange, and Aaron wondered if it was a nervous habit or if she truly thought his words had ruffled her bow off her head.

Her naivety only made it worse. "Did I do something wrong?" she whispered with fearfulness. In all honesty, Aaron couldn't see why she should be.

"Was it because I saw you crying?"

"I wasn't crying," he lied with a gruff response. Even on _his_ ears, he knew it sounded unconvincing.

"It's alright to cry," the girl with the ribbon informed. A subtle sadness clouded over her azure eyes. "My momma always said that."

At the mention of her mother, produced an image of his own and even though the little girl hadn't meant to conjure up his old ghosts, he still found himself gritting his teeth in anger.

"My momma always said that crying helps to make you feel better," the blue-eyed girl continued; her voice was solemn as she whispered out her words. For a moment, Aaron thought that maybe she was talking to herself until she looked back up at him. "Even if things are real bad, not everything always _stays_ bad."

A flare of anger ignited in the pit of his stomach. She had no idea what she was talking about! Even if they seemed to be the same age, her callow outlook on life and his harsh experience clashed like gladiators in an arena. She didn't know a goddamn thing about him or how _bad_ things could get!

"Then why don't you run back to yer Ma' and let her know I said thanks for her permission!" he shouted with ire, glaring at her furiously from his branch. More than anything, he wanted her gone as much as he wanted something to fire his anger towards. He got both of those things but soon discovered that his outburst didn't reward him with the result he wanted even if it had worked as he had intended.

She blinked rapidly and gasped at him the same time she took a step back; as if she had been physically pushed. Her eyes gazed up in fear at him, and looked at him as if Aaron decided to leap out of the tree and attack her. Her lapis colored eyes panned down to stare at her shoes and even though her face pointed to the dirt, Aaron could see dejection envelope on her face.

"My momma is dead. So is my daddy… I think… he was in the war…"

The blonde haired boy in the tree felt a splinter of guilt start to prick at his skin when he heard her despondent words. He gulped the lump down in his throat as if trying to swallow the regret he felt for his careless ignorance. He saw her lift her hands past her face and rapidly stroke the pink bow in her hair; it must have been something of her parents —or at least he suspected— and touching it made her feel better. Aaron had seen her do it twice, and that must of meant he had hurt her twice.

He wanted to say something, but the words weren't coming to mind, and when Aaron did work up the courage to admit an apology, she looked up at him and scowled: "I don't care what he says! I wish I never gave you that blanket!"

However, before he could reply, she was already running away from the tree.

Now he felt even worse.

"Wait!" he called out as he began descending from the tree. After placing his knife back into the leather sheath on his belt, he began to climb down as fast as he could. Her white figure began to grow smaller the longer it took him to go from branch to branch and he quickened his pace. On top of an apology for his outburst, he also wanted to thank and pay her for the gift in the middle of the night. He hoped he would be able to catch up with her—

He let out a frightened gasp when his shoe slipped on one of the tree's limbs and felt himself plummeting towards the ground. It was terrifying to be surrounded by sudden weightlessness that he didn't even have a chance to scream. Aaron watched the leaves and sky pull away from him in a massive tornado of discombobulated color before his left arm struck something hard and he cried out.

At first, he thought what he had heard was the tree branch snapping, but when the force of hitting the branch flipped him over, he knew that it was his forearm that had made that dreadful sound. The 7-year old hit the dirt and felt the wind ripped out of him so fast that it left his lungs burning. The boy rolled over on his back and pulled his injured arm to his chest. For a moment he felt nothing until he tried to move his arm.

Pain, like he had never felt before, traveled up his arm as if he had been pierced by miniature bolts of lightning. Frightened and pained tears escaped out of his closed eyes and Aaron felt them roll against his cheeks and pool into his ears before wetting the dirt underneath. He whimpered and sniffled as he pulled himself to his feet. By the time he managed to stand up, he heard the pitter-patter of small feet against the dirt.

The girl in white gasped at his arm that he held against his chest. "Are you alright? Your arm!" she exclaimed, her eyes unable to steer away from his forearm that was already beginning to swell underneath his coat sleeve.

Aaron tried his best to move it as if hoping that if he could like normal, it would erase his fears that he may have broken it. However, every movement was as agonizing as the next, and every effort only further confirmed the truth that he had stupidly broken it while falling out of the tree.

Aaron began to breathe heavily as panic began to seep in and flood and drown out every reservoir of rationality. He broke his arm! He was going to die! He would never be able to use the arm again! He would be crippled! How was he going to do anything with just one arm?!

The blonde haired boy saw her gulp as if she was readying herself for some perilous endeavor that required all of her courage. Even though most of his attention was fixated on his broken limb, and only fear and pain the only things going through his mind, he could tell that she was just as afraid for him. Aaron looked at her with brief hopelessness, as if silently pleading for advice since she was the only one around… and the only one that showed him anything that resembled worry for him out of the entire week.

"Wait here," she suddenly piped up. Her voice wavered with a nervous tremor. "I-I… I'll go get him— he will help."

"I can walk…" the injured boy groaned as he came towards her. "Can I follow you?"

There was a moment of deep contemplation in her eyes, and he watched as they shifted from his arm and back to his face. She gave him her back, and Aaron was about to go by her until she touched the ribbon, as if checking would give her an answer. Although she had her back to him, he could almost see her frowning. What was she getting so worked up about?

"I… I don't know if I should… he's a doctor… but," the girl turned around and because he bristled with annoyance at her hesitation.

"I'll find 'em myself then," Aaron huffed as stormed past her.

The girl with the pink ribbon wrung her hands nervously together as he winced his way past her. Aaron heard the small, timid steps following behind him and looked over his shoulder with a grimace at her. The girl gulped nervously but still trotted behind him. As they neared the town, the boy realized he had no idea where he was supposed to be going. Aaron paused and looked back at her, managed to give a placid expression, and she took that as an invitation to come closer to him. Shyly, she marched by him and kept a close but respectful distance to him that allowed Aaron to follow her, but still gave him his space.

There was a heavy silence that settled between them that was only interrupted by the small hisses of pain that escaped out of Aaron's lips each time a twinge erupted in his arm. The tails of the girls pink ribbon constantly swayed back and forth each time she looked over her shoulder, inspecting his condition each time he winced or groaned. Aaron was unsure what to make of her and frankly each display of concern — that grew more and more uneasy as they neared the town — did nothing but confuse him more.

"Mr. Bauchau is a good man… and he likes boys, so he'll be nice to you…" she informed, her sentence trailing off. Aaron narrowed his eyes, even though the girl was attempting to reassure him, he felt no emotion carried in the words. Almost as if she had not been saying them at all, but was told to.

There a was a pause and then with a frown she added with genuine concern: "Did… did you break your arm because of me?"

Aaron didn't reply, but they both knew the answer even if he didn't voice it.

No. Breaking his arm was just as big as a mistake as yelling at her, and she had no hand in either. They continued on their way in silence as they made their way deeper into the Atchison neighborhood near the town's center. As they passed by a plot of land where a wooden skeleton of a house stood and a large white canvas tent next to it, Aaron turned his attention back to the girl with a question on his mind.

"Who is Mr. Bauchau? I have never heard of him, and I don't know who you are."

Her face twitched with alarm and he caught her holding her breath. The tiny, but revealing actions would have gone unnoticed if Aaron hadn't been staring right at her when she had done it. The girl must have been afraid of him if the mere mention of his name made her shiver.

"He…adopted me… we just moved here from—"

Aaron watched as she cut herself off to grab the outside of her bicep and squeezed her fingers around the white cloth. Unintentionally, it reminded him of a similar thing that Zachariah had done to him. He had called him a name— Aaron couldn't remember which one— and Zachariah had roughly grabbed him the same way. He had a nice couple of bruises from the shotgun driver's grip because of that.

She grimaced slightly as if just grazing her fingertips on her arm caused her pain. It didn't take him long to figure out that her adopted father had probably handled her the same way, but _why_ was the girl in the white doing it to herself?

"Why are you doing that?" he asked with a tone flat with suspicion.

Her hand suddenly left her arm and frantically moved to touch her ribbon. The hasty change was too outlandish to be natural; it was almost as if she was reacting to being caught and was hiding it by fidgeting with something else for his eyes to focus on. For a moment, he forgot about his arm and stopped walking. Something did not feel right. Why had she gave him a blanket? Why did she offer him candy and why was she behaving so bizarrely?

The girl looked back at him when he stopped, and this time, all he saw was sadness. The ribbon-haired girl didn't try and hide it. In fact, she finally disposed of the benign charade entirely. Her eyes burned, but she didn't cry, and he realized that maybe he had been wrong about her before. Aaron's instincts had warned him that her odd mannerisms had been false display, but he had no idea of how much until she stared into the blue eyed girl's pensive, glossy stare.

Aaron wanted to ask if she was alright, even though it was apparent that Mr. Bauchau was depriving her of anything close to the feeling. Hell, even with the broken arm, he still wanted to lend her hand. Help her or say something to snap her out of her wistful mien.

The one question he did want to ask, more than any other running through his head, was why she couldn't cry even though she wanted to. There was nothing, except the desire to do so and that was probably more painful than if she had started weeping. Recalling her words from before, Aaron understood what the root of the problem was.

The girl that had offered him candy from the ground had been speaking from experience about how terrible things could be — there was a chance that she may have even envied him for being able to cry.

_"It's alright to cry because even if things are real bad, they don't always stay bad."_

Aaron stared at her and studied her with quiet and almost guilty empathy. How bad did life have to get for you to never to be able to cry again? Maybe _he_ was the one that didn't know a damn thing.

Aaron had been sleeping in the dirt, ridiculed, cursed and treated as if he wasn't worth a stranger's glance, and because of his past, looking at her raised a very troubling question he was too afraid to know the answer.

"Why'd you give me the blanket and why you'd come lookin' for me?"

Aaron had remembered what she had shouted at him earlier— it was the reason he had given chase. She was the one that had given him the blue blanket secretly in the night. That was at the beginning of his tribulations and a week had passed since then. It could have been that she had come into town and noticed him that night since she was new, but he knew damn sure that gossip about what he had done would have reached her ears eventually— it had reached everyone's ears.

So why was she looking for him now knowing what kind of person he was?

The dark haired girl gave him a tight-lipped, almost defeated look. It was disconcerting, and at that moment, he wished the cheery phantasm would come back.

"Do you want a peppermint stick?"

This time, she didn't ask with enthusiasm, more of a listless whisper of words. She didn't even look at him when she asked the question. Aaron took a step back from her as if letting her know that he silently refused. Aaron hadn't realized he had until a moment later; he couldn't help it.

Although he didn't think she was of any threat to him even with the broken arm, the young orphan boy still thought she was too ominous to continue to be in the presence of.

Aaron shook his head at her. It seemed as if she was just murmuring to herself; regardless he firmly declined.

"You little ones alright, there?" came a male voice from behind them.

As both children turned, they watched as a man stood at the entrance of the canvas tent. Aaron could tell that the man was accustomed to a more opulent lifestyle, but even with his living conditions reduced to living in a tent, he didn't convey that where he was staying was even on his mind. He was lithe, clean-shaven and poised in a town that was filled with people that either had a chip on their shoulder or a part of the minority that stuck their noses up. He was neither of those things, but the boy could see despite being in the middle, he was his own separate entity.

Except for his arm, which the tall thin man looked at with concern, he was indifferent; they were strangers after all, even if they were children. His dark hair, that the Aaron suspected sat normally groomed except for today was tasseled. Smooth waves of ebony hair, hung with sweat and dirt in front of his face, paying testimony to the hard work he was putting into the incomplete house. His white shirt was soiled brown with dirt, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Even if he was a dandy, he did not shy away from hard work.

He was wiping his hands with a tattered red rag as his eyes grazed over the pair as if silently trying to figure the both of them out. There was apprehension in the gentleman's gray, gentle eyes and only because he was afraid that _his_ presence would scare them away. Aaron could see that he wanted to help since he laid eyes on his broken arm, but what was keeping the adult's feet rooted to the ground was the girl next to him that was seconds from running.

"I won't hurt you," he said calmly, holding his hands up at them as if he was showing a nervous dog he didn't have anything to hurt them with.

Both of the males stared at her and Aaron almost wanted to say something heavy to vouch that the older man didn't mean any harm; that was the least Aaron could tell just by the brief, first impression. Still, her expression whitened to the same shade as her dress, and she trembled like the last leaf of autumn.

"Son, can I take a look at your arm?" he asked, addressing Aaron. "I'm a doctor and I may be of some help to you if you oblige me."

There was a sigh of relief on Aaron's part hearing the word 'doctor' despite the natural hesitance that he didn't know the man. The girl had been leading him to a doctor, her surrogate father. Unlike Mr. Bauchau, Aaron believed that the man in front of him was the real article even if he had known him for less than a minute.

Perhaps he felt that way because his only other option was to follow the girl. Her seemingly good intentions were muddled by her anxious demeanor and lack of clarity about Mr. Bauchau.

Aaron took the option that unnerved him the least and took a step towards the stranger from the tent. The man flashed him with a brief benevolent smile that assured the boy even more that he had made the right decision. As he moved closer to him, and watched as he inspected his arm, he saw the man's eyes dance with a studious expression, as if he was already trying to work out how to heal him without even being able to see it.

The blonde haired boy reached to roll up his sleeve to let him have a better look, but the doctor held up a hand to stop him. "Don't touch it for now. Let's get you seated so we can take a look at it."

The injured boy nodded at his instruction and timidly followed him towards the tent. The doctor lifted the flap of the tent up, peeling it to the side and allowing Aaron to get a better look at what was inside as well as assist him in.

His small footsteps shuffled across the wooden floorboards of his tent until the rug in the middle muted them completely. There wasn't much in the tent as far as medical supplies went; on the table across from the cot he saw a couple of small bottles that Aaron figured was probably laudanum, a blue jar that was chloroform, and several medical tools kept in a neat row. He also noticed gauze and a bone saw that he gulped at the sight.

His tent smelled strange as well, and the boy figured that it came from the different aroma of dried herbs that hung sporadically from the wooden poles of the tent. Mostly, Aaron saw personal belongings: photographs, luggage with the lid open that displayed his neatly folded clothes and thick, worn books he couldn't see the titles of. Other than that, there was a cot and some scattered hardware equipment near the corner of the room; a box of nails and some tools that weren't in any organized pattern.

The boy made his way towards the cot, but hesitated and looked back at the man for permission. He nodded and Aaron climbed as carefully on to it as he could without causing his arm more pain.

When he sat upon it, his weight sinking it down, he placed his legs over the side. After doing so, he noticed that the girl had vanished since he climbed on the doctor's bed. The man closed the tent's cloth door and gave him his attention.

"My name is Dr. Finney," he introduced warmly. "What's your name?"

Aaron slumped his shoulders and tucked his chin in; it was always so awkward when people were friendly to him, especially when he had grown accustomed to being treated with nothing but malice. The boy didn't want to be rude; he just didn't know how to respond, as if the concept of returning a greeting was a completely alien mannerism.

If the doctor was offended, he didn't show it. Instead, all he did was give an understanding nod. "You don't have to worry about friendly babbling if you don't want to, son, but I do need you to answer my questions when I ask them."

Aaron looked at him uneasily. "My name is— "

The man shook his head and chuckled. "I mean about fixing your arm, and you can tell me your name whenever you feel like it."

Confusion shadowed over the orphan's face, but it only remained there for a moment as he gave him a slight nod in acknowledgment. Although he was appreciative that Dr. Finney was more receptive to him, and doing his best to make him feel comfortable in a strangers tent, Aaron's thoughts were still elsewhere.

The encounter with the girl was like a dream; it was too perplexing to be real and for that reason, he simply couldn't dismiss it. Dr. Finney came in front of him and very carefully, helped Aaron remove his jacket and shirt so he could better examine the severity of his broken bone. The boy winced with every movement, especially when he pulled down his sleeve and hung the other half of his dirty white shirt off his uninjured shoulder. With only part of his torso and his arm naked to him, Finney inspected him in silence as Aaron watched him at work.

His face was as serious as a statue, but he knew that his mind was buzzing. The doctor looked at his arm with sympathy, feeling sorry for Aaron that he was in pain, but there was no concern. Aaron wondered if maybe it was because he thought his arm was worse than it was, or if Mr. Finney was purposefully staying calm so he wouldn't worry.

"How did it happen?" he asked.

Aaron told him that it was the elm's branch, and Finney smiled lightly. "You are not the first one to tell me that story."

That gave the child a small sigh of relief on his part and instilled more confidence that the man knew what he was doing. Finney's hand touched his arm, prodding for where the break was with professional care. The boy couldn't help but wonder if the doctor was new to town as well and didn't know who he was. Was that the reason he was being so kind to him?

"Your sister is welcome into the tent if she wishes," he said, catching Aaron's attention. "She did not have to run off so soon."

"She ain't my sister," he corrected. Aaron winced when he touched the outside of his forearm and began to set the bone. His eyes shut from the pain and he saw white dots dancing behind his eyelids in a drunken waltz.

Dr. Finney said something, but he didn't catch it. The man seemed to understand that he had missed what he had asked him and repeated the question. "Relation of any sort?"

Aaron shook his head. "She just walked on up to me and started jawin'."

There was more that he wanted to say— mainly to get a second opinion. Even with her gone, he still felt unnerved. Not by her, but by her manner. The boy wanted to ask the adult if it was normal for girls of his age to act that way. As much as Aaron wanted to convince himself of that, he could not wash away the malaise feelings she exhibited that still stuck to him like stench to clothes. There was something wrong with her.

"Did she tell you her name?" the doctor asked.

The orphan boy looked at him and the instant he did, he could tell that the man had a similar opinion even though Aaron hadn't said anything.

Aaron felt the doctor twist his arm suddenly, and he faintly heard the bone inside crack over his whimper. Aaron blinked - stunned. He barely felt a thing.

"Like I said, you're not the first one to of fallen out of a tree," Dr. Finney chuckled as he slung his arm. He used a piece of blue fabric that he ripped from his blanket nearby since there was no gauze suitable enough to support his limb, he could feel his eyes pierce behind Aaron's veil, the same one trying to hide that he _was_ worried about the girl he didn't know. In their quiet moment, he heard the man sigh despondently and could see that whatever thoughts were running through his mind, he would share with Aaron soon.

"Do brave deeds and endure…" the older male whispered. Aaron heard it, but the Dr. Finnery didn't seem to mind that he had. Even if Finney meant to say it to himself, he didn't mind the audience. On the contrary, the boy shifted uncomfortably in his seat when the doctor looked at him as if he just finished drawing plans that somehow included him.

"I can pay you," Aaron mumbled. He hoped that changing the subject, and distracting the doctor with money would make him forget whatever scheme this stranger wanted to put to use that included him.

"A favor will do instead," Finney smiled. The corner of Aaron's mouth lifted briefly to the side in a disapproving grimace. It felt as if he had walked into a trap and didn't appreciate being cornered. The doctor had fixed his arm, had been decent and though he was nobody to Aaron, he knew he would feel guilty if he refused.

Finney sat next to him on the cot and placed a hand on his thigh. At first, he thought it was too invasive, and even though Aaron hated being touched, he didn't sense that the simple gesture was anything more than that.

"Do you think you can help me find her?" The posh doctor gave him a timid smile as if he was subtlety letting him know that he could decline if Aaron wanted to.

Aaron had a feeling that it was going to have to something involving the girl in the white dress. The request made him instantly nervous. In all honesty, he did want to help her, but he was also worried about his own self-preservation. At least the doctor would be there to help him, but it still didn't erase the fact that he felt somewhat angry that this was being imposed on him; that the doctor wasn't giving him a choice even though he stated he had one.

Aaron wondered if it would have been easier to say no if Finney had ordered him to like Zachariah. Unlike the Shotgun Messenger, he was neither cruel or authoritative. He had never experienced that before from an adult that didn't know him.

A heavy stone of guilt sank to the bottom of his stomach. In fact, the only one that treated him with respect had been Abraham until he had thrown the bottle and disappeared from Atchison.

"I know you're the coach boy," Finney suddenly said. Aaron closed his eyes with regret, the memory of killing his father still fresh in his mind every time those words were spoken around him. When he went to glance at Finney, and prepared to see a look of hostility on the thin doctor's face, he didn't see a single change. There was no difference. The good man looked down at him as if Aaron had never committed the crime in the first place. Instead, he found understanding. There was also a sympathetic strangeness the glossed over in his eyes as if the man was letting the boy know that he was not exempt from forgiveness even though what he did was terrible.

" _Fac fortia et patere_. Repentance can be erased by completing good deeds," Finney told him. "It is up to you if you wish to undergo them and how you wish to judge yourself in the end."

Aaron blinked up in confusion up at him but absorbed his words attentively as if he was sitting in a church. The metaphorical priest looked down at him, gave a small breathy chuckle and clarified: "Do brave deeds and endure."

The blonde haired boy understood what he was telling him, and even though Finney was letting him know that he could obtain redemption by changing. Still, it all felt so daunting, and ironically, made him not want to move from the cot any faster even if the doctor's words were philosophical and held some truth. Perhaps, what was keeping him rooted, though, was a good reason to venture voluntarily in the lion's den.

The girl's adopted father, who Aaron couldn't help but picture as a demon awaiting souls to snatch, was someone he did not want to meet even with an escort. Although, after this past week, and seeing for the first time, an example that his situation was not as rough as he had thought, the boy knew that he would at least have to try. For himself and because of what Finney had mentioned.

Still, he wanted a reason before he lifted from the cot.

"Why?"

Finney lowered his head in his direction like a teacher to a student, an air of seriousness around them that seemed only to press down on him. "Because," he began. "We do not pull our hand away when someone reaches out with their own."

It made sense, and again, Aaron had no choice but to agree with his morality. He knew the feeling all too well, of not having anyone extend a hand to him. The girl needed it - and desperately.

He had to ask though, since Finney and the little girl only had seconds of introduction with each other. "How do you know she needs help?"

Finney lifted his hand from Aaron's thigh, sighed heavily and stared at the table across from him. As if he was watching a memory play before him that Aaron was excluded from witnessing, a melancholy expression molded on his face and seemed to stay there for eternity although it was only for a few seconds.

The doctor's shoulders slumped, and still staring at the tent's wall, he answered quietly: "People are better at others at hiding what they're feeling, but you can always tell by the eyes if you look close enough."

The doctor looked at him with a frown. "Her eyes were screaming for help."

* * *

After traveling through a series of dark stone passageways with a guard accompanying him, Erron Black lowered the brim of his hat towards the dirt until his eyes adjusted to the sun. Even with the kohl around his eyes and his hat providing a protective shadow around his face, it did little to shield his cobalt eyes from the burning golden glow of the sun. The rain clouds dissipated, almost as if they had been evaporated and returned Z'unkaharah to its natural, miserable normalcy.

When the trial ended, Tama, Hulin, Norah and the guard that had accompanied her had left the room. Jan Fai, who had held onto his hat and mask during the trial, had returned the items back him before Erron had been escorted out by another tribunal guard.

There hadn't been much to look at while Erron and the guard made their way through the underground corridors, and Black had spent it buckling his mask back into place using the torches on the wall for light. The gunslinger was still somewhat sour that his guns were still in the possession of the front desk, but he had been assured with indifference by the guard next to him that after the whipping, they would be returned to him. They had better because lashed or not, he _was_ getting back his goddamn guns.

The sand layered floor of the Coliseum strained his eyes the more he continued across the arena. His leather boots sank and warmed his feet with each step, as if each grain had been turned into individual specks of embers by the sun's heat. Every so often, he would catch dark blotches that he recognized immediately as dry blood, and they speckled the ground with fresh, brighter pools.

As they walked across the Coliseum, and he roamed his eyes over the different machines of torture scattered around the arena— some that were in use at the moment — the mercenary looked towards the bleachers to take a gander at his audience.

Any free person could spectate the punishments that happened daily in the Coliseum, whenever they wished, and it was one of the traditions of Shao Kahn's rule that survived Kotal's rise to the throne. Despite how medieval it was, it did its purpose well and reminded the citizens that although they had the courts, the punishments were as severe as they had always ever been.

There weren't many people spectating since the rain had driven most of the citizens indoors, but there was enough for a decent audience. Mostly men occupied the seats, varying in social status and for the most part, kept in groups and away from others despite there were no seat assignments. The Coliseum was one of the many places in Outworld that occupation and social class were not regulated, however, old habits died hard and even though they didn't need to, kept to old traditions.

In the front row, overlooking the ledge that provided the closest and best view, were a couple of Barristers watching a hanging that was taking place at the gallows. There was only one man watching the beheading station. The elder gentlemen watched with interest until he eventually got up and joined the Barristers watching without sympathy as the raggedy Outworlder on the end of the rope kicked out his last bits of life. The lithe dirty man went slack, and the rope lowered down so the guard could lift the noose from his broken neck, and place it around the next guilty man waiting in line. Erron caught the eyes of the other men waiting in line and as he passed by them, they looked at him with perplexed curiosity before the strangled groan of the man being hung stole their attention again.

At the other side, across from where the hanging was taking place, a boy was cringing at the sight of man being torn to shreds in the iron cage— the same one he was sharing with the saber-toothed feline. The father, leaned over and whispered something to his son, and he could see the boy nodded as the older man reassured him; most likely reminding the child that he was a criminal and deserved it. Still, the youngster looked on the scene with a queasy frown.

There were also a small collective of rough looking men near the pair, and unlike the father and son, were laughing. The fattest of the group of repulsive, dirty men, slapped his knee and simultaneously spilled alcohol out of his leather flask when the cat pounced, tore out the man's throat.

The cat's dinner didn't even have a chance to scream, although Erron doubted he would have heard it over their laughter. The beast laid its massive paws on his victim's lifeless body, fur matted with caked blood and wet with the man's fresh blood. The gunslinger would have thought that with the amount of blood on his coat, that the saber-tooth would be full by now, but still he chewed and swallowed parts of his latest easy meal.

Erron glanced beyond the cage and grimaced in pity at the men too scared to move behind the iron fenced door. The only thing that separated them from the teeth of oblivion was a small door connected to the cage. It both barricaded them and kept them prisoner at the same time. The animal had nowhere to go either, and was too small to fit through the door, but unlike the men beyond the iron, was contempt were he was.

For a moment, Black felt sorry for them— being eaten alive was a shitty way to go. His sentimentality lasted briefly when he reconsidered that they probably deserved what they had coming if they were on the other side of the bars in the first place.

He watched the beast chew on a chunk of meat like a dog with a steak, but Black's thoughts fluttered away when he saw where he was being lead to. The fourth and last station of Outworld justice he saw, had the longest line out of them all, but not nearly as big of a crowd watching; that was reserved for the saber-tooth.

However, seated all along the stone bowl's pews that overlooked the area, he couldn't help but notice how every set of eyes shifted towards his direction. He didn't care about the Coliseum's other visitors. Erron would forget them much faster than they would him. Still, he only cared for the small audience of people he did know watching him as he approached.

They were in the first row, as close as they could be. Norah sat next to Hulin, who in Erron's own opinion, was sitting too close than what seemed necessary or appropriate. The baker, who watched him from her seat, also seemed to silently agree with him as well. The Edenian wasn't physically keeping her by his side by holding her in any way; the only contact between the two was that they were thigh to thigh. However, Hulin's proximity alone was enough to keep her at bay if she dared to move away. It was obvious she was terrified of him.

Still, she sat stiff and reticent next to him while Tama breathed down her neck from the seat behind. Erron could just make out the older woman's head over Norah's, and even though he was sure Tama could feel his eyes on her, derived more enjoyment from making Norah as uncomfortable as she could.

Black wasn't sure who she was scared of more— Tama or Hulin. Regardless of who it was, the mercenary could tell she hated them just about as equally. As he approached towards the whipping post, which was nothing but an old tree trunk with iron manacles nailed high into the tree's flesh, he glanced her direction once more.

Her green eyes were red underneath the glassy surface of tears that were bubbling up. The marksman could see, even from this distance, that though her eyes burned, she refused to let tears escape. Erron wasn't sure if perhaps she just didn't want to give herself away — although she was failing poorly with her body language— or if she just had nothing left to spill.

The latter thought made him sincerely sorry for her. Turning her stare away from him, she looked down at her folded hands in her lap and his eyes followed; they trembled, and he could see the tips of her fingertips turning red from how hard she was trying to steady them. Black wondered what she was thinking because he knew that she wasn't worried about him being whipped. It only left two possibilities: Norah was nervous of Hulin's presence, or what the future held for her.

The Edenian caught him looking and narrowed his eyes at him. With a smirk in the Kahn's guard direction, he lifted his hand and reached out for a section of her hair that hung in front of her face. Norah visibly shuddered and turned her face away as his fingers tucked the dirty strands of hair delicately behind her ear. With his smirk still present, he turned back to Black.

There was a possessive, almost neurotic gleam in his eyes and even though Norah and Black were not on the best of terms, still made him angry for her at how she was treated. Her green eyes burned, but she still did not cry. Black understood the hopelessness she felt, especially since the simple, dominating act directed at him answered his previous question. The gunslinger had been correct about both assumptions, especially when he saw Tama's grin and her deviant eyes twinkling with a nefarious gleam. Erron would bet that the reason she was so nervous of Hulin and the future, was because Tama sold Norah's contract to Hulin. Maybe not officially, but it was clear who the older woman intended to sell it to in the future, and the baker knew that as well.

She was as good as dead.

One of the guards that occupied the arena barked an order for him to get in line and Black used the opportunity as an excuse to steer his eyes away from the small ensemble who were responsible for his forced attendance in the Coliseum.

The Emperor's bodyguard could feel the eyes of the other prisoners in line as he passed. As Black walked by each glare, his spine straightened and he sauntered by with arrogance. He may have had to stand in line like the rest of them, but he was not one of them.

A guard, a lanky but muscled man who had a scar running from the top of his forehead, over a moonstone colored eye and down his cheek, jabbed him in the side with his club.

"Shirt off like the rest," he ordered. The guard nodded towards the line that had every man and woman standing bare-chested. Black raised an eyebrow as he looked over his shoulder and into the man's dead eye. The gunslinger wasn't offended in any way and thought of it more of a persistent annoyance that ever since he arrived at the People's Tribunal, he was forced to remove things.

The greasy dark ponytail on the Outworld guard swayed harshly as he jerked his head to the side and towards the pile of clothes that laid in a dirty, mountainous pile to the side of the line. With a roll of his eyes, and in no hurry as he walked towards the cotton hill, he began to unbuckle and remove his vest. By the time he reached the stack of clothing, he dropped his vest next to it with a thud. The metal plates caused the vest to stand upright as if he had stuck a shield into the ground. Next came his black sleeveless undershirt. Erron felt the sun already start to warm his chest and back the moment he removed it. He narrowed his eyes at the mass gathered by the tiger's cage that mockingly hooted and whistled at him. Black simply tossed it gently on top of his vest.

He tried to make his way back to the line until the same gangly guard with the white eye stopped. "Hat and mask too, _Earthrealmer_."

Erron couldn't help but glare at the xenophobic way he snarled 'Earthrealmer' at him. It was a constant barb he had heard countless times, and he wasn't sure why it bothered him now. While Black removed his hat and mask as well, he felt the corner of his mouth tug up disdain when he understood why he hated being reminded of what he was now. Before, anyone that uttered that were bounties that he personally dragged in for punishment. Now _he_ was being punished, and due to that, it was able to prick at his skin.

With his torso bared just like the others, he took his place at the end of the line and waited his turn. Every Outworld face in line turned towards him and looked at him like a museum piece from a different culture. Unlike the other untouchables in line, his chest wasn't olive toned and didn't have any pre-existing scars besides the ones he had put on his strong, tanned biceps. The woman near the front of the line, attractive and young, with her hands folded over her naked chest looked at him up and down with almost a disgusted curl of her lip. He winked at her mockingly and she rolled her eyes and faced the front again. Unlike the other men in line, and even some of the guards, his physique was broader and stronger and it made him relax more at the thought. Once again, he may have been an Earthrealmer but he was not to be messed with.

"What are these, bounty hunter?" one-eyed guard questioned, pointing a finger towards his tally marks.

"My resumé," was Black's menacing response.

The guard snorted, glared and spat at his boots before he walked away, leaving Erron with a grin on his face. Too bad he didn't know his name, he had an urge to carve one on a bullet at the moment. At least it would have been something to do while he was waiting his turn.

The whipping post was currently occupied with an Outworld teenager who was already bawling even though his flesh hadn't been touched by the whip yet. The tall boy sniffled as he looked up at his chained hands, and then down at the pool of fresh blood at his feet he was standing in; knowing that he would be contributing to the crimson pond like the rest of them.

Already, Erron could hear indecipherable whispers— musings— about him all throughout the Coliseum. More people began to crowd near the spectating pews for the whipping section, and he didn't have to guess very hard why. There was a smugness amongst all of them, mixed with mostly curiosity, but it was the satisfaction of seeing the Earthrealm guard in line was what lured them away from the tiger's cage.

The Flogger looked his way once, and he was the only one that Erron gave a glance back to since he was the one that would scar his back soon. The first word that came to mind was conceited. The athletically built man swaggered in his step and wiped the blood from his face — splattered on him from his last victim— and gave a grin. Erron through it odd that he wore a white tunic giving his dirty profession, but then scoffed when he realized the reason for whip handler's choice of color.

The boy was lucky considering the arsenal of various whips — some more wicked than others — that laid on the table. All he had was a simple cat-o-nine tails, but he could see metal barbs gleaming in the sun at the end of each tail. The individual cords were thin, but the knives at the end would do their job sufficiently.

The teenager cried out in pain as soon as the first lashing hit his back and the other Outworld prisoners in line grimaced. Blood eventually began to run down the boy's back and painted the Flogger's white shirt and face with even more blood. The Whipper's rhythm was as quick as the second hand on a clock, but brutal and hard with each stroke. Erron caught a grin on the Flogger's face with each spray of blood and Erron scoffed. The guard with the whip was a sadist and loved his job. Black was certain that the Flogger's shirt was picked from his closet and not a standard uniform. He enjoyed wearing their blood like a badge.

A woman down the line turned away and began to weep quietly as the boy's punishment carried on. Her hands cupped each of her breasts, unlike the only other woman in line that held her chin up with defiance as she kept her arms folded over her own. The more modest of the women shed a tear and watched it sink into the sand.

By the time the Flogger was finished, and the other guards removed the boy from the chains; the teenager's back cut to ribbons. Blood poured out of cuts, soaked the back of his pants and wetted the sand beneath his sandals. Not even the beast in the cage left such brutal marks with its claws. Every inch of his skin was either red from lashes or from blood. Erron could even see red bits of flesh still trying to cling on to his skin.

The Flogger walked away, satisfied with his work. He threw the whip on the table next to the others and moved over to grab a pen. Erron hadn't noticed the stack of papers on the desk and he lifted his chin for a better look at what he was scribbling.

The guard tallied something with a pen stroke, handed it to a fellow guardsman who tucked the paper in a leather envelope. The paper collector handed him some more documents and the Flogger browsed through them rather quickly until he stopped at one. Erron saw him lift his head towards his direction, smile crookedly and then place the papers on the desk.

They must have been from the court, Erron assumed; information on the person's crime and how many lashes they should receive. The bounty hunter had his doubts that the man that carried out the sentences adhered to what was ever written on those papers. With that in mind, and because he lost count of how many times the teenager got whipped, Erron had the feeling that he was going to receive more than just 16 lashes.

"Next!" he gruffly hollered as the other guards dragged the boy away by each arm. The gunslinger couldn't tell from the back of the line if he was conscious or not as they carried him away.

The unashamed woman stepped towards the tree as he looked over the paper, and picked up his whip of choice. Black glanced at Norah and grimaced. She was also looking his direction as well, and he could tell by the abashed look on her face, that she was thinking the same as him. Norah would have been the third woman in line, naked and castigated for the entire arena to see before even getting flogged. There was a softness in her eyes as she looked towards him and the Outworld woman being chained. At first, Erron thought it was a hallucination, and perhaps it was, but her expression became stoic for the quickest of seconds, and she tipped her head at him in a thankful nod.

Black nodded back. It was a small admission, but it was a large stepping stone. Silently, and finally, she had thanked him for something that he had done.

The rattle of chains forced his attention back towards the brash woman. They were turning her so her chest faced the whip and in Outworld that only happened when one particular crime was committed.

"Adulterer!" The Flogger announced to the crowd, his voice echoing all across the walls. Hisses and colorful words from the male patrons watching came from the stands from the accusation.

When he had first arrived in Outworld and had nothing but a few coins in his pocket and time to kill, he had visited a brothel; both out of curiosity and to satiate his carnal needs. Earthrealm discrimination was as strong 100 years ago as it was today, although nobody had the gull to refuse him as much anymore due to his reputation. He had been given a woman, an Outworld female he could no longer picture in his head. Her scars he did remember, however. The scars of an adulterer were only placed on the chest and torso as a way to repel any new suitors away.

Women became pariah after that and if her secret was known, was lucky to secure a position as a prostitute. The marked doves were the cheapest you could purchase and from gossip he had heard, were always taken from behind, since their scars were too unsettling to look at.

Black remembered he had the money to buy an unmarked woman, but because he was an Earthrealmer, was given a dead-eyed, hollow vessel. He left without touching her because of the scarred 'X's over her breasts and waist. It was only later did he find out the meaning behind them. Now that he was seeing how they received them and thinking back to that day in the brothel, he should have at least paid her even if they didn't do anything.

The mercenary kept his eyes on the Flogger, and he swore despite the man's impassive attitude that was presented in nothing more than a tight-lipped line, he might as well have been smiling from ear to ear. The cowboy scoffed internally. Apparently, he didn't seem to take kindly to adulterers as much as the crowd did.

The white-shirted guard approached her, his shirt coated with fresh blood and wore it proudly. The whip he plucked from the table was more of a thin stick with one rope at the end. It appeared dainty, but the Black knew from how the horses reacted to Abraham's stagecoach whip, that it had just as bad of a bite.

The ruthless guard said something to her Black couldn't make out, and she scowled and spat at him. With the back of his hand, he wiped away her spit before his palm came across her face.

The woman didn't even get the opportunity to recover before the rope hit her flesh. She only let out a choked sob of pain at first, but as more and more red lines appeared and blood began to cover her nakedness with a thin red colored sheet, her screams got louder. The guard didn't only keep his brutality reserved for just her chest. There were lines down her face as well, across her cheeks and nose and it made the others in line cringe even more.

Erron looked at back of the man's head that was in front of him; he had no interest in watching the cruel outcome of her condemnation. The man in front of him shifted from one foot to the other as if he was extremely intoxicated. It confused him until he watched as he teetered over and hit the dirt face first. Apparently, he had no stomach to watch anymore either.

Soon, there wasn't any noise coming out of her mouth, and the only sound of female sobbing came from the other woman standing in line. After the guard was finished, and he shook the muscle soreness out of his arm, did the other Coliseum guards come over and peel her from the tree. The heels of her feet left trails as they pulled her unconscious body away from the tree. A door opened, courtesy of another guard stationed by the door. With a heave, they threw her body in the room and walked back to their positions.

Another man was whipped, his crime wasn't announced to the crowd though, and his whipping was the same as the teenage boys. Gruesome and longer than what was probably needed. The sound of the whip hitting flesh was so precisely timed that he could have danced to its quick rhythm if he wanted to.

The next man was not as fortunate and when the Flogger grabbed a whip from the table that basically just a crude chain with a handle, Erron was surprised that the man was still alive.

Unconscious or not it seemed, everybody visited the room when they were done and Black wondered how many passed out bodies he would find when he passed through the door.

The crying woman was next, and like the girl before her, was also an adulterer— the guard certainly liked to make sure everyone in the stands knew that. Since the man in front of him had fainted and moved him up the line, Black was able to make out now what Flogger was saying.

"You remind me of my late wife," he told her. There was a malicious undertone in the way he scorned her as if he was chuckling his words out. "She was a pretty whore once too."

More men and women had entered the Coliseum since he arrived and he heard them cringe and hiss from behind him as the woman's punishment was carried out.

Erron, being the next in line, had a front row seat. Blood splattered across his face now and then, and each time he rubbed away the droplets off his face with his hand.

He swore that the entire arena would go deaf from her screams of agony, and the man with the whip was no less kind to her as he was with the other woman probably still lying unconscious in the room. It wasn't an enjoyable thing to see, and every time the rope hit her, he could see her skin split and blood boil up and pour down her body. Erron knew that he was a selfish man, but in the back of his mind, he felt somewhat regretful that he didn't volunteer to take her spot as well and spare her.

The marksman looked to the pews in the direction of the baker. He frowned at the large group of people that were only paying little attention to the woman manacled to the trunk and wailing at the top of her lungs. Their eyes were on him, and he could sense the dark anticipation for his turn in each of their faces. The only one that did not look at him in that way was the person he thought months ago would have wanted to witness nothing else.

Despite the company of people around her, and Hulin's hand now resting on top of her thigh, she regarded him with a look of guarded remorse. Now she felt guilty, but her stubborn personality hated admitting it—especially to him. She blinked rapidly at him with red eyes and breathed raggedly with nervousness; he wasn't sure if because Hulin was touching her or if she truly did feel ashamed for letting him volunteer to take her place.

The irons clicked open, and the women dropped into a heap on the ground before them. If not for the slow rise of her chest from her labored breathing, Erron would have thought that maybe she had bled to death already.

Erron didn't step forward, and the Flogger passed by him with a small, insidious grin on his face. The mercenary glanced at the table the same time that the guard made his way over to it. Black scowled as his eyes landed on the most heinous of the instruments to choose from. There was a metal whip, much like the one used on one of the men before him, but had metal barbs scattered along the length of the chain. Much to his surprise, his hand grasped the handle of one of the more innocent of tools to pick from.

It was a brown leather bull-whip, and Erron stared at with nothing but suspicion. Unlike the other whips, it was clean of blood or bits of skin; as if it had been handcrafted on just today. Another peculiarity that Black did not like was that there were small, salmon-colored orbs scattered along the length of the bull's tail. They were smaller than a drop of rain and he would have missed them completely if not for the sun highlighting them. They seemed to catch fire the more he tried to figure out what they were and already the enigma of it all made him grind his teeth in irritation. No doubt… he was in for yet another surprise besides how many hits he would get.

His blue eyes went back to the crowd and he glared at each of them waiting to see it carve marks into a Kahn's guard—an _Earthrealm_ bounty hunter's—flesh. They did not care anymore for the tiger, or any other torture taking place, they just wanted to see him ridiculed. Arrogance and pride mixed, sending his nerves ablaze with angry determination to make sure the son of a bitches in the stands didn't get the show they craved.

The guards dressed in black tunics grabbed him by his bare arms and with a small shove he threw them off. At first, they were ready to fight him to the chains if necessary but stood back in stunned surprise at what he did.

Cooly, he walked towards the chains at the trunk as if he was strolling through the marketplace without a care. He lifted his head towards the chains as if they were something on display for him and grabbed the chain above the open cuffs. Even with his face towards the blood-soaked tree, ignoring the pungent taste of copper that hit his tongue, he raised a single haughty eyebrow when he heard a complete silence descend upon the arena. It didn't last long.

"Rip the flesh off that Earthrealm dog!" slurred a loud an inebriated, gruff voice that he assumed was the fat man watching the cage earlier. Erron rolled his eyes with annoyance, even though more shouting and words of agreement buzzed throughout the Coliseum.

The guards didn't come to shackle him, and he straightened his posture, making sure that the Flogger had a big enough target. His shoulder blades began to ache slightly even though the irons were not too high over his head, but holding them up without support was making them strain. The gunslinger looked over his shoulder and met the Flogger's poisonous glare with indifference

"You just gonna hold it in your hand, or are you gonna use it sometime today?" Erron challenged, his tone straightforward with a small sprinkle of mocking impatience.

The ex-Earthrealmer heard a small huff of air come angrily out of the guard's nose before his hand came up and the first lash of the whip came down on his back. The force and sting of the bullwhip made him cave in his back and send his face into the tree. Black didn't cry out, or groan; the only noise came from the chains clanking together. Warm fluid rained down his back and the top of his right shoulder blade burned until it reached the opposite side of his left ribcage.

_Ow_. He thought to himself. Although he was being sarcastic, he failed to find the humor in it when the second lash came down. The blood from the other prisoners before him on the tree warmed his face, and its stickiness clung to his stubble like a gentle hand upon the side of his face. This time, there was a wound on the back of neck and running in a perfect line down his spine.

"Think you can write my name?" Erron quipped, craning over his shoulder to look at the Flogger.

He didn't like that, but his frown turned into a furious expression. His lip curled up and to the cowboy's surprise, he let out a small chuckle.

"Patience. The _whip_ is not what you should be worrying about, mercenary," he warned with an ominous whisper and gave him a brief, malicious smile.

Another crack and another future scar on his body. The crowd began to cheer in approval with each blow. However, between beatings, he could see that some of them were more anxious to hear him cry out. Black counted 10 licks of the whip before he started to groan, and began to feel that something was very wrong.

As if someone was digging thousands of individual needles all along his back, he felt each one of them grow in intensity. It wasn't from the whip; this was something entirely different and surprisingly took his attention off the lacerations burning his skin and weeping blood. The tree trunk in front of him, the only visage he had this entire session, blurred in his vision. All he saw was a massive blob of ruby colored droplets slowly inching their way down the tree.

Suddenly, his hands began to shake, and the metal chains sounded like crystal glasses in an earthquake. Every muscle in his body clenched painfully, and no matter how much he commanded it, he could not release himself from the agonizing stiffness that ran through his body. Black was faintly aware that he was still shaking, and it wasn't long until his world darkened when he shut his eyes. His teeth clenched, and he began to crush the chains in his hands as he felt each needle start to burrow and claw its way deeper into his skin. They almost felt… _alive_.

Very faintly, as if there were ghosts grazing his skin, he felt crawling all along his skin and the pain only intensified when felt the pinching. He groaned and felt his lungs burn when he began to hold in his breath, and swallow the pain. His hands gripped the chains harder, and stars swarmed his vision. Still, Erron Black refused to give them the pleasure of hearing him cry out. He wasn't allowed to—he was an Emperor's guard.

"You can scream if you like," the guard behind him taunted. "Lactroquin are hungry when they leave their eggs, but their lifespans are short. They'll die inside of you, but not before they have their fill of a meal. They're venomous as well, but they won't kill you. _Possibly_. This is only my first time using this whip. I was waiting for the right occasion."

There was chortle from the crowd, but on his ears it sounded like nothing more than a dense muffled mess; as if it was one demon laughing at him. The pain in his back became excruciating, and he was beginning to wonder if it was the worst he had ever endured. The venom seemed to intensify the pain from the lesions on his back even more, and at the same time dampened the damage that the whip had done. It allowed him somen insight on the bugs crawling on his back with such clarity that he could conjure a mental picture of what they looked like despite the fogginess from the poison that made him groggy. His head pounded and his blurry vision began to grow, but still he could feel twinge of pain on his back.

Each one of the insects pulled and scratched at the edges of his cuts; gathering around them like locusts on a stalk of wheat. There were too many bites to count, and their small tugging as they used their pincers to chew skin off of him was unbearable. Erron wanted to scream for just the bugs alone, but it was not the worst of it. They tunneled into his flesh and pulled at muscle underneath the layers. What made it worse was they were ravenous and took as many bits of flesh as they could. These bugs felt like the size of common house flies, but every one of the six-legged beetle-like pests were relentless.

Black felt himself start to shiver, and his skin became cold as his body continued to quiver. The sun did nothing to warm him, and slowly he began to feel his feet slipping beneath the sand. He stomped them into the dirt and tried pulling himself up with the chains. The gunslinger felt weaker than a newborn calf and sleep beckoned him like a siren's song. Still, he continued to cling on to the chains as if they were the only thing saving him from death.

The whip hit him again, and for the first time he let out a grunt. Blood went down his back and soaked the back of his pants. With his eyes closed, and the bugs biting and clawing at his skin, he pressed his forehead against the tree trunk and endured it.

Erron stopped counting after 29 strikes, only because the pricking at his skin from the Lactroquin itched with such intensity he thought he was going to go blind from the pain alone. The mercenary could also feel his body grow numb, and knew with the combination of his blurred vision and that he couldn't feel much anymore meant that he would lose consciousness regardless if he wanted to or not.

Black didn't even have any strength to cry out if he wanted to and the only strength he possessed left was to hang on to the chains. He still rebelled against the spectators watching and laughing from the crowd, and he straightened his posture as best as he could. Every time he moved intense waves of fire rolled over his body and he was sent into the tree as another whip pierced his back.

He could feel the cuts stretch as he flexed the muscles of his back. Black hissed through is teeth each time and every time he moved, he could feel the bugs reposition and move along his back. Furiously, he pictured the fat little ticks with full bellies and gleefully cleaning his blood from their legs, drinking in more of him. Erron began to wonder if they would only stop feasting until their stomachs exploded—explaining why they lived short lives.

_Choke on me you filthy little critters._

The marksman didn't know how many beatings from the whip he received, but after he felt the rope raze across the top of his shoulder towards the center of his back, his knees buckled and his hands slipped from the chain.

Erron didn't even feel himself hit the dirt before he passed out.

* * *

_He dreamed that he was in dark grotto, stumbling in the dark as bats attacked him and sunk their pointed teeth into his back for trespassing. His gun had been lost, and he had been searching for them in the pit for what seemed like an apathetic eternity. No matter how many bats he grabbed from his back, and no matter how long he ventured, he could not find daylight..._

_Water rushed in all around him, invisible and choking him before he even felt it at his boots and he began to sputter..._

Erron woke up from his dream and immediately spewed out the vomit that had briskly worked its way up his throat. He felt a hand at his scarred back rolling him on his side and he grunted in pain and retch on to the stone floor of the dark room he was in. The gunslinger coughed painfully, his eyes watering as his chest burned as if he had swallowed a cupful of acid.

It took him a moment to scan his surroundings, his head felt swollen with sickness and his eyes still adjusting to the dark lighting inside the stone dungeon. His question if he would be joining other past out whip victims was answered. On several tables, much like the one he was one, he saw the women being treated with their wounds. They had gauze, covered over their slashes. They were asleep. The man that had been carved with the metal whip had not been as fortunate, and his lifeless body was currently being carried towards the door that led to the Coliseum; probably another meal for the saber-tooth.

The hand that had been on his back helped roll him back to his back, which surprisingly did not feel as raw as he thought it would, but still hurt to move. He smiled weakly. Quick healing was always a gift of Shang Tsung's magic.

"You have bewildered the doctor that's for sure," came a voice he recognized. "They were almost concerned that they would hear from the Emperor. Your scars are still open. They don't want to heal you completely after all, otherwise you do not learn your lesson.

His eyebrow raised in the direction of Jan Fai, who sat in the wooden chair next to his table. The doctors were on the other side of the room, tending to others. Surprisingly, he found a face he did not expect to see sitting in the chair next to Tribunal guard.

Norah was asleep and the way her neck hung over the chair's back looked uncomfortable. She was dead and akimbo in her chair, as if she hadn't slept in days. It looked as if she had been given a new set of clothes as well. The green poncho was gone, and instead she sat in a blue long-sleeved dress. The baker was still dirty and her hair sat in a greasy bun on top of her head.

"Norah pulled most of the bugs out," Jan Fai admitted to him, almost hesitantly as if it wasn't his secret to tell. "There are still some in there trying to hide from us. I also have your weapons and clothes when you are ready to stand."

Black gave a simple nod. Jan Fai reached down under the table, picked up a small clay bowl and handed them over to him as Erron began to sit up. The gunslinger rubbed his eyes with his fingers before massaging his temple. Nausea still plagued him, but at least he could sit up unlike the other whipped prisoners that would need more time to recover.

"How long was I out?" he asked, grabbing the bowl that was handed to him. Black grimaced with disgust at the bulbous brown insects dead in the bowl. They looked like nothing more than common beetles, but had intricate lines of orange all along their shiny backs. He growled softly under his breath.

A hiss suddenly escaped him when he felt a twinge in his back.

"They're not eating, just nesting but every time we get close, they go in deeper," Jan Fai informed him with a frown. "Norah needed a break, but there's not many left. At least it gave them time for you to work out the venom in your system."

Erron looked at him pointedly. "You didn't answer my question. How long have I been out?"

Jan Fai cleared his throat uncomfortably. "2 days. Should be able to leave soon. Your scars are healing quickly but its best to get the insects out before going back to the palace."

The marksman huffed and rested his chin on the table, debating whether he wanted to sleep or not. Erron heard Jan Fai say something that he failed to catch, and with an annoyed sigh he lifted his head to look at him.

"She won't say it out loud—maybe not soon— but she's thankful for what you did for her," Jan Fai told him.

Black didn't really have a response to that and soon, Jan Fai left the room in silence. Erron looked back at the bowl of bugs and the woman dressed in blue. At first, he figured that the only reason she was even here was because according to the courts, he still had to escort her back because of Tama's request. Still, Jan Fai's words and the fact that she had offered to pull out the bugs herself made him stop and reconsider. It was a strange turn of the tables, and he would have chuckled at the irony of how coincidental it was.

It was as if the words were not known to either of them, and they were doing what they could to say thank you and apologize in their own way. He took the lash, and she pulled the bugs out— something that she wasn't obligated to from what Fai was implying.

For the first time in a long time, he was able to unearth that Latin phrase the doctor from Atchison had told him once.

_fac fortia et patere..._

_Do good deeds and endure._

Erron frowned when he looked back at her sleeping form before eventually he allowed himself to rest, although the thought unsettled him.

Hulin owned her now and the last time he had thought of _fac fortia et patere_ , the outcome hadn't ended pleasantly.


	24. Chapter 24

** Chapter 24 ** **  
Once Upon A Time in the West  
Part 6  
 _Intermission_**

* * *

Lying face down on the table, Erron tried to recall the number of times he had bullets pulled out of him. If he remembered correctly, most of the innumerable instances had taken place in Outworld. He found that almost ironic enough to laugh at if he was in the mood. Given the fact that he was an Earthrealmer, born in the unforgiving Wild West, most would have guessed that was where he received most of his wounds. They would have been correct— at least about the ones that they could count on him.

The small, discolored beige dots that he had alongside his ribcage came from a Pinkerton agent's shotgun. He missed his target, but Black still got nicked and in the end, did the job of slowing him down for them to catch him.

There were two on his legs: one on the thigh that barely missed the main artery— that came from a Colt— and one on the side of his calf that he got from a Derringer under the table at a poker game.

The mark on his nose…

He sighed softly. If there was one scar he wanted to remove it was that particular one. Black knew that the nose was always an easy target— hell, he aimed for it the same as any man in a fist fight— still, despite the long list of people that had connected their fists with his, there was always one particular moment he associated it with. It was the most prominent and bitter memory even after all these years. However, that was a Pandora's box that he had buried long ago.

Then, of course, there were the tally marks on both of his arms. The bounty hunter hadn't lied when he told the guard in the Coliseum it was his résumé. The gunslinger had found himself in a foreign land before Outworld. With no way to communicate, there was only one way for him to let the natives know _what_ he was. It only took one person that could speak English, and asked, before word spread. Even with money filling his pockets here and there, he had been impoverished and hungry. As time went on, and he got older and more experienced, he got paid for more important targets and spent fewer nights with a growling stomach.

The first couple of tally marks he had etched on the ship and in no way where they false; they were white men whose visage was as sour to him as a rotten bushel of apples. The other tally marks were just jobs he had done once he arrived in East.

When he got to Outworld, marking himself was pointless since his body healed more efficiently than his previous mortal skin had since meeting Shang Tsung. The scars on his arm still played the same role in the more savage realm as they had in Earthrealm and the culture shock dissipated quicker now that he could communicate. Black remembered being surprised by that, and sometimes filled his bouts of boredom with how remarkable of a coincidence it was. Still, the lack of language barrier had been the only break he had caught.

Even after all these years, he was still an unwelcome pilgrim and was even more so during Shao Kahn's rule. There had been a few scuffles he had to shoot his way out of; just because some folks didn't appreciate an Earthrealmer trespassing in their realm. However, just like China, he was scrupulous and stayed patient. Once again, word of mouth and the tally marks saved him from starvation, but it had taken him longer to gain a respected reputation in such a hostile land. Outworld was much more perilous and if not for Shang's magic, then he most certainly would have been dead from just the exotic game he had been paid to hunt and the scars that _should_ have been on his body.

They were there, though, almost translucent, and in the right lighting, Erron could still make them out if he truly cared to. He thought of them as nothing more as a bad day of hunting. Camouflaged among the lashes on his back, there were eggshell-colored lines from a sword's multiple graze. Hidden under his curtain of hair along the side of his throat, there was a scar from where an arrowhead nearly slit him open before he dodged out of the way in time.

He'd been shot and stabbed by Black Dragon, Red Dragon, and every knife-wielding and gun smuggler he came across. They scabbed and disappeared as if nothing had happened. Still, he couldn't recall a bullet that hurt more to remove than the bugs in his whipped back. Pellets, shrapnel, and rounds didn't constantly move around with a mind of their own — and they also didn't chew on his flesh the longer they stayed inside.

Black hissed though his teeth when the pliers turned sharply inside the cut that ran down his spine. Each time, the thick leather strap that laid by his head grew more and more tempting to put between his teeth. Stubbornly, he refused, and now his pained jaw was reprimanding him for it. Erron was getting rather frustrated with not only the bugs still crawling around but with the person with the pliers as well.

"I'm sorry," Norah uttered. It hadn't escaped his notice that there was less and less concern in her voice every time she apologized. He didn't consider it as her being uncaring because a worried disposition stayed on her face. Perhaps, she was just as tired as saying it as much as Erron was of hearing it.

"Quit sayin' you're sorry every damn minute and just get the goddamn thing out," Black griped. His knuckles turned white as he held on to the end of the table.

The gunslinger had only been awake for a day, and Norah for half of it, which she spent that time trying to fish out the rest of the Lactroquin. The bevy of dead insects in the bowl had grown since the baker had grabbed the pliers, but there were still a few relentless parasites inside him that refused to leave. It hadn't been the first time Erron had come across these bugs— they were often found in the Kuatan Jungle. They enjoyed swarming a sick or dying animal, biting their way into their skin before releasing their venom inside their victim. The unfortunate host would pass out from the toxin and then die in a couple of days, long enough for the Lactroquin to eat what they could, lay eggs and then die themselves.

According to her, they had started to lay eggs inside of him when they first brought him into the room. Black was grateful that he had been unconscious for the amount of time he had been, or the revelation would have even more repulsed him. It was disgusting enough to feel them scuttle painfully inside him, let alone laying their next generation in his skin and using him as an incubator.

He let out a sharp groan and exhaled with relief when the pliers pulled out of him. His fingers relaxed on the wooden table's edge but continued to hold on with a secure grip. His groan wasn't the only sound of pain that could be heard in the pitiful impression of a hospice. All it was a holding cell, even if there were no locks on the doors. None of the injured could leave until they could walk, himself included, and the guards were only present in the rooms as precautionary security for the doctors in the room. However, the men and women healers taking care of the other visitors from the Coliseum seemed about as indifferent as the guards.

Erron had only seen his healer once, a humorless older man that reminded him of a weathered scarecrow, who had only came by to give Norah the solvent needed to burn away infection and any stray eggs she couldn't remove.

Black suddenly heard that sharp but gratifying clang of the pliers hitting the bowl and looked to see her discard another of the dead insects inside. "Do you feel anymore?" Norah asked him.

The marksman paused for a moment and assessed for himself. Despite that his back throbbed with pain constantly, whenever the bugs moved around it was quite obvious. In a way, he was thankful for the abrupt twinge every time they wiggled about— he didn't want her to miss any. It was best just to get it done now while he had his flesh open now instead of slicing it apart later because he was impatient to leave.

Part of that impatience, he knew, was to make sure that he returned to the palace before any of his fellow Kahn's guards were aware of his absence. Ironically, he had all the time in the world due to his seemingly endless years, but he'd rather not waste any of it by telling any of his comrades a long, convoluted story primarily regarding the limits of his conscious. The truth was the only obvious explanation, because, at the moment, he was having a hard time thinking of a lie that the Emperor or the others would be willing to swallow. Curiosity hit him, and he wondered what speculations the people in the Coliseum had reached. Or if they even cared and were just ecstatic enough to see him get whipped.

Black hissed in pain and curled his fist when he felt something scratch under the skin of his right shoulder blade. It was nowhere near any of the lashes — from what little he could tell — and Norah only confirmed it when he heard her sigh heavily behind him.

"I have to make a cut. It crawled too far away."

"So get on with it," he growled tiredly.

Striding placidly for better access to his shoulder, he caught the fabric of her blue dress in the corner of his eye. The mercenary took a quick glance at her face and saw her bite her bottom lip tentatively as she reached for the small, but razor sharp knife. Perhaps a couple of weeks ago, when she proved him wrong by pulling the trigger of his own gun, he would have distrusted her with a knife so close to him. It had been clear that she meant him no harm now, in fact, it looked as if she felt guilty for his current state of pain. Erron had to wonder, if their roles were reversed, if he would have even bothered taking the bugs from her back. Shamefully, he already knew the answer: he would have left it to the doctors.

While she had every reason to be thankful for him taking the lash for her, they both knew that the baker didn't really need to attend to him. It was obvious she had an extreme distaste of bugs — possibly phobia for them; Erron had caught her once or twice shivering with disgust while looking at the bowl. Still, she continued with her work without complaint or request that 'he be grateful she even bothered to help' when she had reminded him so many times in the past, he was unworthy of it.

It was kind of odd to him to see her so willing to help, mainly because he thought he would have never seen it despite earning her forgiveness had been his goal. It felt alien to him to see her doing anything kind for him. Black could tell that she felt the same way. Her body language, the way she tip-toed with her words and her movements, made all too clear to him that she was uncomfortable showing him anything other than hatred. It had been as common as breathing to her, and now that she had no reason to, was lost on how to act around him. Perhaps, she thought he was still angry with her, and he supposed he had a reason to be after the unjust beating. She appreciated it; the nod from the stands confirmed that she did, as well as helping him now. However, they both knew that she hadn't forgiven him fully just yet, even if he did a couple of good deeds.

Black stared intently at her when he continued to wait on the knife to slice skin. Her eyes danced and glazed over as if she was watching a scene that he had no invitation viewing and made him reconsider that perhaps she wasn't nervous about _him_.

It had been obvious in the stadium, just from her fear alone, she had been dreading going back to the palace. Hulin had only made it abundantly clear when he displayed his possessive character earlier. With her thoughts a million miles away, the knife in her hand and knowing Hulin's cannibalistic nature, it wasn't hard to decipher what she was thinking.

The baker was contemplating her death: when it would come, in what form and how excruciating it would be. There was also the sickening possibility that he wouldn't kill her either— at least not at first. Either prospect was horrible, and they both knew that there was no escaping it. Black knew he couldn't give her a head start since he had been court ordered to escort her back. Tama had requested that to the Barristers, and Erron wondered how long the idea to sell the Baker to Hulin had been considered. She couldn't leave on her own with the guards standing nearby. The palace was her precipice with no other detour, and he was the hand at her back forced to push her along.

Black may have endured the whip and would have to bite his lip when he handed over his coins to Tama, but it was still the ex-cup bearer that was still being punished. The bounty hunter's eyes traveled along her face, stopping at every bruise. Even if it was with him, it seemed that it was the only peaceful intermission she had for awhile.

"Was it the guards, or did he stop by your cell?" it was a brash question and no matter how delicate his tone, he knew it was a hard inquiry for her to answer. The only reason he had asked, was to pull her from her thoughts momentarily. He had a feeling it was the guards since it was common and even if it was an unpleasant memory, was the only way to cloud over the grim future ahead of her.

Norah shook her head, returning to the present and cast her green eyes down at him. Erron expected her to look at him with disdain for prodding into such a delicate affair, but she still didn't show him resentment for the question; as if she knew he would ask it eventually. The corner of her mouth flickered into an emotionless smile before she answered that it was the guards.

"They wanted to know what an Earthrealmer looked like underneath clothing," Norah's lip curled up for a moment, and he could feel the heat from her anger smoke the space around them. The marksman felt pity for her, even when she exhaled and sourly remarked under her breath, almost to herself: "It was not the first time I encountered that question."

Black looked at her bruised face with an astute and heavy frown. "I take it they didn't ask as nicely as the others before them."

Norah scoffed disdainfully at him. "It was never a _nice_ question."

Erron cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Did they— "

"No," Norah interrupted. Her eyes blazed over with contempt, not at him, but the memory itself. "But they certainly got their wish..."

He raised an eyebrow at her, and with an impatient sigh, she glared at him and said: "They did not rape me. They only wanted to _embarrass_ me for my _deformity_ of being an Earthrealmer, even though they should be the ones embarrassed themselves from the bruises I left on them."

"Hate to see what the other guy looks like," Black quipped somewhat dolefully, although there was a small smirk on his face. Of course she gave them slap or two and he nodded in approval at that.

Norah failed to see the humor behind his joke and scowled at him.

The ex-Earthrealmer didn't bother commenting any further; there was no point continuing with a conversation that was clearly uncomfortable for the both of them. Despite what happened, what occurred with the guards seemed the furthest thing from her mind at the moment, even if she didn't exactly take it in her stride, either. Black understood — there were other uncertain, but impending things ahead to worry about. He did catch himself wondering how many times she had run into that question, since he also knew what it felt like.

It had always been a perverse inquiry, especially when he did not have his deadly reputation to help him sway away those stupid enough to try and discover the answer. There was nothing significant about it other than to be an imperious method for Outworlders to remind him that he was unwelcome. Whenever women asked, it either left him more cranky and irritated being bothered. If they were good-looking though he'd often _'dared to let them find out for themselves.'_ The Kahn's guard had gotten a few women in bed with that line.

For her, however, he assumed it was an entirely different circumstance. While he used it to his advantage, she couldn't unless she _wanted_ to be labeled as a whore. In retrospect, he understood it was just another way for Outworlders to call her one. It was hateful in his shoes, but at times not always, even if it wasn't the best flirtation. For her, it was nothing but scornful. Erron chewed the inside of his lip when he realized that it bothered him in the same regard as hearing one of his fellow guardsmen ridiculed. The origin of their skin gave them a bond of comradeship, but the fact that they both saw themselves as Outworlders made that connective string as strong as spider's silk.

Black could tell that it bothered her, but she ignored it and stayed focused on what she had before her. That was something to commend until he considered her previous words. He frowned at the revelation; the only reason she didn't dwell on it was because she was used to.

He groaned slightly when the scalpel pierced his skin and she dragged it across. Inhaling sharply through his nose, he averted his eyes to the stone floor and only closed them when she replaced the knife with her fingers. The gunslinger stiffened and hissed through his teeth as her slender fingers prodded under his skin. Thankfully, it didn't take her long to remove the bug, and as soon as her hand lifted off him, he felt instant relief. The stinging he had been enduring had finally left, leaving him with only the pain from the lashes to deal with. It didn't mean that he was out of the woods yet.

With his blood coating her fingertips, Erron watched as she squeezed her thumb and index finger together and squished the last of the bugs before discarding the remains of its crushed body in the bowl. Picking up the white rag, soiled red from previous attempts, she cleaned her hand off and reached for solvent that had been forgotten on the chair. Norah sat down, trying to ignore his stare, and began unrolling the white cloth in her lap, also provided by the doctor. Erron watched, mostly due to boredom, as she began to separate the sections until they were enough to cover the lashes.

Every so often, the fabric would rip louder— sharper; a victim of her frustration. A maelstrom of turbulent thoughts brewed behind her eyes, darkening them as she stewed awkwardly in her seat. Erron rose an eyebrow at her when her eyes flickered to him briefly before they went back to the cloth. Her eyes avoided him, and it was evident from her discomfort alone that it was a temptation she was fighting. They both knew she wanted to address something, but was unsure how to go about.

Black was going to get it out of her, demand it with a simple order to voice it instead of letting it haunt the both of them, but she beat him to it.

Norah stopped ripping apart the fabric, swallowed the lump in her throat and looked at him. It took her a moment, almost as if the words had never been uttered and she wasn't sure how to use her mouth to form the syllables.

"For what you did..." the former maid began, her fingers ringing the cloth nervously in her hands. "Thank you."

The marksman withheld his acknowledgment for a moment, knowing that there was an additional catch to her gratitude, and waited for her to continue.

"But _why_ did you?" she asked, shaking her head, almost as if the question was obsolete only because they both knew the reason. Erron had no doubt she knew the answer, but the desperation to hear it come from him, in his own words, was the only way to lay her doubts to rest. Everything he had done had contradicted the type of person she saw him as — a heartless bastard. Erron Black was still that same heartless bastard in many ways, but not all of Outworld's unforgiving culture had forever snuffed out his humanity.

"You know why," Erron mumbled.

"I have some idea, yes," the former cupbearer admitted. Still she looked at him with a small gaze of dubiousness at his reply. Almost defiantly, she still floundered against accepting his explanation.

She still held to her hatred of him, even if it did go through a slight metamorphosis since he spared her the lash. From the little he knew about her, mistrust was a permanent aspect of her personality, one that he could understand as well. Her new demeanor to him wasn't exactly unusual to him, and he wondered if she realized he had seen it before. The day they met, when he had walked into the tavern to scratch his itch with liquor, she had regarded him with the same level of distrust. They were back at square one, only this time, Erron Black wasn't as quite as predictable as he had been back then. Before, she knew how he would treat her, now though, they seemed to both be at a loss.

"However," Norah began, her eyes flashing to him with a pointed look. "It does not mean that it erases all the past things you have done."

Erron felt himself roll his eyes at that; exhausted, hearing the same thing over and over that they both already knew. "Didn't expect it to," he acknowledged with an exasperated sigh. "You've reminded me enough that it wouldn't."

"Then why did you do it?" she blurted firmly, her eyebrows narrowed in a hard line. "The entire time I have known you, you have made it clear that I am nothing more than dirt on your shoe, so why would you volunteer to do anything _nice_ for me? Every action before that has either been to get rid of me, or remind me of how insignificant I am. Even if you did help me escape, that was still for your own benefit."

Erron chewed the inside of his lip, holding back the firey rebuttal that wanted to silence her. The baker was still not done, and he watched as she slumped in the chair. Defeat layered over her irritated expression, and she refused to look at him. In a way, it was almost droll to see her so confused by something that he did, even if that reason for what he did was obvious. The gunslinger knew she was smart enough to comprehend it but stubbornly refused to believe him capable of such a good human stunt.

It brought a question to mind: "Are you sour that _I_ did somethin' for you, or that someone did something nice for you?"

Her eyes immediately darted to him, burning with offense at his question, scoffed and turned away. "I have had nice things done for me," she argued.

Black rolled his eyes. "So it only makes you mad when I do something?"

"You only do things for yourself," Norah pointed out bluntly.

"And you don't?" Erron snorted. "Everyone— even you— are selfish when it comes to savin' their own hide."

She bit her lip in contemplation before she sighed heavily. "I suppose that is true," Norah confessed. The girl mulled over what to say next, and for a moment the gunslinger saw her nod her head minutely. Her green eyes clouded with what he perceived as either confusion or shame; perhaps both. "The truth of the matter is, if I had the choice to, I would have not taken the whip for you."

The mercenary nodded in understanding and shrugged as much as he could in his state. "I know."

Judgmental emeralds flashed to him, and he saw them soften for a moment to try and decipher his message. "So why?"

"Because I ain't the one that was owed an apology," Erron clarified with a harsh, impatient tone. "That's the truth and I don't care if you swallow it down or not. Villainize it all you want, but it won't change the fact there was nothing for me to gain from takin' your place.

Blinking at him, Norah sat up a little straighter in her chair. Her lips parted and closed softly, as if struggling to find something in response to his admittance. He felt confident that he had finally silenced any rebuke she could have shot at him. The girl seemed almost as abashed by the declaration as much as he was to admit it. Erron Black wasn't a man made for expressing regret for anything that he did. The hired gun still wasn't, and he couldn't remember the last person he apologized to. The silence that had be born from his honest disclosure seemed to weigh heavier on her than it did for him — in fact, it was more of a weight off his shoulders. It kept her mute and motionless for several minutes as if she was one of those stone people in the People's Tribunal mural.

A wave of affliction rolled over her face, creasing it slightly the same time her eyes began to burn and water. Ignorant to whatever though had suddenly upset her, Erron gave her space by looking away and choosing to focus on the stone ground under him. Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught the flash of her hand move to catch the tear that rolled out against her permission. Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Norah cleared her throat and turned back to him with a stoic expression he didn't address; keeping his gaze firmly on the floor.

"You turned your back," the woman murmured. Her voice trembled with a despondent timbre. "When you clearly knew I needed your help."

Black had no idea why dragging the past up again seemed necessary after she had reminded him so many times, but he played along. Looking at her, he nodded his head dolefully.

Slouching more into the chair, Erron watched the muscles in her face tighten. "You helped Tama turn me into a servant and then treated me with as much hatred as she did."

Another minute nod of the head, letting the former slave know he recognized the part he played. Black had let coins cloud his judgment; if he had ignored Tama like he should have done, things would have been extremely different.

"You broke into my room and tried to kill me," Norah continued, her nostrils flaring while her voice trembled with rage. Deadpan in his expression, but with his eyes clouded with undeniable guilt, he gave another nod of his head in attestation for his crime.

Tilting her head to the floor, she let out a small sigh. Erron would have thought she would keep continuing reading off her mental list of his past mistakes, but paused for what felt like the longest of minutes.

"I also put a gun to your head… ready to kill you as well," remorse filled her voice at the admission. A sardonic scoff left her lips as she shook her head. "Unlike you, I pulled the trigger. I suppose in some small way, that makes me worse than you."

Black gave a small _'hmph'_ in response, dubious about the amount of validity in her words considering his reputation. Erron flashed her a lackluster smile which she saw but didn't respond to; her attention was wrapped up in what words to say next.

"You… you saved Abigail when I asked you to..." her voice cracked at the mention of the old woman's name and her train of thought stopped abruptly. Tears ran down her face, but before she let them drop onto the fabric of her dress, she wiped them away. Composing herself, she continued on: "You had never done anything I asked you to before, especially when it was the _kind_ thing to do… and that was what you did as well in the Coliseum, only this time… I did not ask you to…"

Looking back at him, her eyes glazed over with doubt and more tears, she bit her lip in silence as if doing it purposely to keep herself from saying the wrong thing. Still, her cynicism for him was as easy to feel as heat from a high sun. Slowly, as if she agreed to finally submit to it and reserve her stubbornness for another time, Norah swallowed and exhaled through her nose.

"You _are_ able to be…selfless, afterall," she said, her shoulders sliding against the back of the chair, almost in defeat. "I am sure it was not an easy thing for you to do."

The corner of Black's mouth lifted briefly into a bitter smile. "It's why I'm not so fond of being _generous_."

"Believe me, I have noticed," Norah blurted with a cold stare. It only lasted momentarily before she focused back on the cloth in her hands. After ripping a few long and thin sections, she softened her demeanor and said: "But I suppose, you would not be Erron Black if everyone else knew what you were capable of besides being good with a firearm."

Erron raied a puzzled eyebrow at her, unsure if she was struggling to find a compliment better than that or if she was really that shitty at giving them out. If he had to gamble on it, though, his gut told him it was the latter. Regardless, he smiled lightly at it.

"Do not worry; your secret will remain safe. You have a reputation to uphold, after all," The baker teased with a stoic, but somewhat condescending tone. Erron caught her smirking briefly at her own humor for a moment as she rose to her feet with the fabric and the blue bottle in her hand. Erron let out a short and curt chuckle at the back of his throat that even on his own ears, sounded more of a scoff than anything.

"Much obliged," he remarked back sarcastically. Norah turned towards him with an austere look of contemplation. For a second, Erron could have sworn she was suddenly regretting what she had said as if she had betrayed herself. Maybe, she was eating crow for what she assumed about him at first, but the thought didn't sit well with him. Or maybe she was just disgusted with herself for lowering herself for degrading her integrity by apologizing to him; after all, he was just a greedy, cold-blooded snake — even now Black could see that her opinion hadn't changed very much.

It was only affirmed when Norah looked at him and rolled her eyes with an acrimonious and almost snotty look to match her tone: "Do not be mistaken. I _still_ hate you."

Black found the statement annoying, but yet, still humorous. It could have been her unrelenting and petty stubbornness, or perhaps it was just the manner in which she had said it; like it was a way to convince herself. Regardless, the Kahn's guard could sense there still some truthfulness, even if it didn't come as earnest as she had tried to make it sound.

"Same," Erron returned with a nod. It could have been the pain, or maybe just being tired and dehydrated, but for a split second, he could have sworn he saw her smile faintly in response. The light-heartedness of their shared witticism didn't last very long, almost as if they both remembered the firm reasons for disliking each other were still stone written laws between them. Her listless demeanor returned just as quickly his bitter mood, and once again, their incommodious silence returned; thickening the air and not allowing either of them to get comfortable.

The injured Kahn's guard heard the cork squeak as his voluntary nurse, sank her teeth around the plug, and placed it on the chair. Slowly, she walked back over to him and tipped the bottle over his back. As soon as the clear liquid burned its way over his wounds, the marksman hissed through his teeth until the pain subsided into a sharp, but mild ache. After rinsing the cuts, Erron felt her patting his back as gently as she could, cleaning any overflow on his back that wasn't aiding him. His blunt fingernails curled across the surface of the wooden table each time the gunslinger felt her hit a tender spot.

"These are already beginning to close. Is it the sorcerer's magic?" Norah suddenly questioned after a quick but strained clear of the throat.

Black's lip curled up into an emotionless grin. "It's all me," he sarcastically joked. Erron heard her scoff and even without turning to look at her, knew she was rolling her eyes.

"Must be nice to heal so quickly," she patronized.

"It is," the marksman preened with a lazy grin. He hissed through his teeth when she dabbed too roughly on one of the more delicate spots in the middle of his back.

"It is a shame you did not think to immune yourself from pain as well," the woman commented.

"Immune to time was good enough," Erron snapped, hot air blowing out of his nostrils. One by one, he felt her start to lay cold sections of fabric on top of his burning back. After a few irritating moments of the cloth scratching at him, he rose his arms up, folded them in front of him and let his chin rest on the top of one of his wrists.

"What did you have to do?"

The bounty hunter lifted his head off his arm minutely at the question and the resentful tone she asked with; almost as if she already knew the grim nature of what the job was before asking.

"What's it to you?" Black snorted.

"I am just curious," she shrugged.

"Get curious about somethin' else then. It ain't your business," he huffed.

"No it is not, and I suppose I do not need to ask," Norah pestered. "You killed someone for Shang Tsung—everyone knows that. I was just curious _who_ it was."

Erron didn't respond; there was no need to. As she had said, there really was no reason for her to ask when the answer was so obvious. It was one of those instances where street gossip was the truth, and there was no need to confirm nor deny it whenever the subject was brought up. He didn't usually try and clarify any rumors about him, other than he was as good of a shot as he claimed, and that he considered himself more of an Outworlder than anything. Taking the realm to heart, was the only way to preserve his reputation and guarantee his buyers that he was loyal, even if it ironically sometimes caused others to view him in a traitorous light for abandoning his mother realm. Association with Shang Tsung had helped some, and it was the only rumor he didn't attempt to snuff out. He just stiffened every time he heard his name and the sorcerer's in the same sentence. Black never did like the man…

"Do you remember the names of all of them?"

Erron's eyebrows pressed into a hard line. "What?"

"The marks on your arms. Do you remember their names?" Norah clarified, unabashed. Black shouldn't have been surprised; she wasn't exactly known for her filter, even if he did think it too brazen of her to ask a personal question. The mercenary wondered if she was just making small talk to fill in the awkward gaps of silence, or if she was purposely trying to offend him.

Looking at her, and trying to read if it was the latter before he shot back something nasty, he could see that it was just to fill in the silence; Norah was only somewhat interested in his answer, and her stoic expression held no indication that the question was meant to be hostile. Bold, but not purposefully trying to be annoying. Still didn't mean he had to answer her question.

The baker didn't badger him any further about it when he chose not to say anything and instead continued her work in silence.

As soon as all the wraps were placed on him, he heard her footsteps leave from the table. He had thought he heard something about 'getting food' but Black hadn't been listening. His stomach growled at the mention of food, and he was pleased he didn't have to wait long. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her place a bowl next to his head before Norah retreated to her chair with her own.

Grunting, Erron reached over and grabbed the bowl next to him. The cuts in his back ached in protest from the movement, but it wouldn't stop him from getting something in his stomach. All it was brown broth with two small pieces of meat and a stale piece of bread inside the bowl, but Black didn't complain. Dipping the bread in, soaking it in the lukewarm broth, Erron gobbled it down greedily. By the time the gunslinger had eaten the little meat provided, and swallowed the bread, he noticed that she had not even touched her food.

He bridged his eyebrows in confusion at her, and he had to say it was the first time he had ever seen anyone be perturbed by a little bowl of soup. The speed that her sadness came about was enough to make him stop chewing and try to think of what could be disturbing her. The color on her face drained away the more she continued to hold in her breath. Her eyes slick with tears, Erron watched as they fell down her face. At first, Erron assumed that perhaps she was thinking about her less than desirable new owner, but for some reason, it didn't sit right; she hadn't been as emotional as she had been now.

"What's eatin' you?"

Her eyes shot to him, his words yanking her out of her daydream. Norah's tears seemed to bubble from the heat of her rage and for a moment, it caught him off guard. Everything screamed to him that, once again, Black had said the wrong thing to her, but this time he couldn't understand why. Erron hadn't been offensive with his tone, on the contrary, it was nothing more than a bland inquiry at it most nefarious. The bounty hunter narrowed his eyes at her in confusion when Norah's anger departed and nausea suddenly blanketed her face.

Springing up from her chair, knocking the food on the ground, she ran for the door with her mouth covered by her hand. The guard stationed by the door opened it for her with a pair of wide eyes full of repulsion and let her pass without objection.

Out of all his past instances with her, that was without a doubt the strangest. For a moment, Erron contemplated the idea of getting up and going after her. However, two factors kept him on the table instead: for one thing, he was still healing and thought it best not to trouble her. Consoling weeping women was not exactly an enticing duty, and he had never been any good at it, to begin with — the bounty hunter also doubted he was the last person she wanted comforting from as well.

_"Let'em do what they need to first. Otherwise they'll never get it outta the way. Sometimes it's best not being nosy, son."_

The corner of Erron's mouth picked up briefly at Abraham's words. The memory was long forgotten, but still funny even after all these years. The first time the younger Aaron had tried being _nosy_ , he had ended up with a black eye. He had deserved it, and the 12-year-old had to walk through Abilene telling his fellow schoolmates, that he fell, instead of facing the wrath if he had told the truth that he had been punched by a girl. Aaron had teased her relentlessly, just small stuff, but to her, it hadn't been, and when one of the things he said made her cry, and he went to approach her, the strawberry blonde girl let him know how much she _appreciated_ his attention.

Black was no fool, though, and he knew whatever was wrong with Norah wasn't the same problem a 12-year-old girl had. Still, Abraham's words held some weight, and since Erron had no other option, he chose to finish his soup but kept a watchful eye on the door.

* * *

The marksman woke up, unsure of when exactly he fell asleep, to the sound of a pair having a hushed conversation. Black was facing away from them, but could immediately identify Norah's voice and another man's. The three of them seemed to be the only ones awake at the moment, while the rest of the stone chamber's occupants slept under the glow of the moonlight that trespassed the iron bars on the high window. Without moving his head, Erron's blue eyes scanned the room and noticed that the guards were also asleep, and he could listen unimpeded without someone alerting Norah or the male she was talking to that he was eavesdropping.

Staying still, he tried to place the man's voice, who seemed far more familiar than it should have been. It didn't take Erron long to realize that it was the guard, Jan Fai, the one who was holding on to his guns until he was ready to leave.

"I am dead as soon as I leave this place," Norah lamented. "I may as well try to escape while I have the opportunity."

"The guards are doubled at night after the last few escape attempts," Jan Fai cautioned. "They would see you even if you did leave the Coliseum."

The baker sighed in frustration. "There is no point no matter the option I chose."

"Yes, there is," the tribunal guard retorted. "There is no guarantee that Hulin will kill you."

She scoffed disdainfully at his naïve remark. "You do not know this man."

"Why purchase you if only to kill you the instant you walk through the door?" Fai argued.

"I don't know!" Norah snapped. Erron heard her pause for a moment, all the while Jan Fai mute before he heard her start to sniffle; it wasn't long until the sound of her crying entered.

"Why was this life chosen for me?" she sobbed, trying to keep her voice as low as possible in fear of waking someone. "What have I done to deserve this?"

"It's the way of the world," Jan Fai reasoned as politely as he could. "If you want to get away from this, _you_ must think of how to. You cannot afford to be foolish."

Norah breathed heavily, choosing to remain silent and allow her nerves to settle. She seemed to accept his words as an unmovable doctrine, and Erron had to agree, that there was certainly truth to what he said. If she wanted anything done, she had to make the move and not wait till fate got up off its ass.

"I know you are right," Norah agreed. "Tears do not solve anything. I… I just do not know how to escape from this. I feel so helpless."

"You're only helpless if you believe it," Jan assured.

"I acted so helplessly when he came..."

"You were overwhelmed by what he had done to Abigail, anybody would have reacted the same," Fai interrupted. Black's eyebrows bridged together at the young guardsman's statement before a frown worked its way on to his face. The old woman he had saved, the one that Norah had begged him to, was indeed dead it seemed. What he wanted to know was what Hulin had done to the woman that still haunted the bread maker's thoughts.

"I should have never left that night. I should have sought you ought another night," she divulged with a guilty conscious.

"You did not know, and what he did was horrible, but it was not your fault."

"I should have known when I saw… I did know…"

Jan Fai raised his voice, but it was still nothing more than a heated whisper. "You did not! Stop it!"

Another bout of silence drifted between the couple and gave Black a moment to gather the pieces and try and composite the semblance of a story. It only left him wanting to know the details and made him feel more intrusive when they continued after a few long minutes. What they said only kept muddling the already heavy mystery.

"I did not mean what I said when ' I should have not left,'" Norah apologized. "I _did_ want to see you."

"I understood your meaning was about Abigail," he acknowledged. There was no reply to that, and Erron wondered if the conversation was going to be over after that until Jan Fai piped up.

"They were punished— the ones that attacked you. I saw to it," the male Outworlder informed.

The Kanh's guard heard her give a small sigh of relief, and say: "That at least makes me feel somewhat better."

"I feel somewhat responsible about it," Jan Fai conceded solemnly.

"There is no reason to, and I do not have any regrets about the decision I made, even after what happened," she paused and then gave a lifeless _'hmpf.'_ "And you are the one telling me that I should not blame myself."

Black heard Fai give a short, breathy sigh at the point she brought up. "Yes, that is true."

The gunslinger couldn't help but raise an eyebrow when he heard strange, quiet pause before Erron heard the sound of lips pulling apart. He remained immobile, and kept listening, but somehow felt as if he felt as if he had stumbled upon some sort of private scene.

"Thank you for saying that, as well for what you did," Norah said, her voice soft and gracious, but still sounded somehow unsure of what she was telling him. There was no doubt that she was grateful, but Erron had to wonder, even if they did share a night from what was implied, how much passion was in the kiss she gave him, or if was simply meant as a tool to get him off topic.

Jan Fai cleared his throat before Erron heard his chair scoot back against the stone floor and he said. "I should go."

"Alright," Norah murmured, it was obvious she felt dejected.

"I will see you before you leave," he promised. The baker didn't say anything, although he was certain there was something on her mind, as he walked away as quietly as possible like a wounded animal.

As soon as the bounty hunter heard the court guard leave through the door, he slowly turned his head and faced her direction.

The cupbearer, who seemed unsurprised that he was awake, looked at him with an annoyed expression. Imprudently, she flicked her eyebrows up at him as if aggressively questioning him to reveal what was on his mind.

"Didn't know you found a lover," Erron teased. He wasn't cruel, nor was he purposely trying to anger her, but still he knew that he could have chosen a better set of words to use. Even though she seemed to understand that it had merely been his way of expressing his observation, it still seemed to hit her hard.

Almost lifelessly, perhaps just too tired to argue with him, Norah stood up and sighed. Nevertheless, her green eyes still shot him with a strong look of malice for his comment and simply told him: "I would have to _love_ him for that to be true."

Turning her back to him, the cupbearer walked through the door. At first, Black thought the statement was somewhat callous until he realized she had never meant it to be despite her defensive tone.

Black rolled his eyes and sighed with exasperation.

Perhaps Abraham had been right that he was too nosy.

* * *

The next few days passed between them without conversation. Erron spent the majority of his time staring at the new additions that came into the dungeon while Norah preoccupied herself with checking and replacing his bandages whenever boredom became unbearable.

Other times, she would leave his table and see if any of the other doctors or nurses needed assistance. Her invitation was accepted by a few, and she helped anyway she could, but most of the time they brushed her away. So for now, she was stuck catering to him. Black didn't talk much to her besides telling her where he was feeling discomfort, and for the most part, it was a good arrangement for the both of them.

Not to say that it couldn't have been better, but the Emperor's bodyguard assumed that it was best not to push each other's luck by saying anything. Silence seemed to be the only neutral medium they could reach. Besides, any grief that he could give her would no doubt be clouded by her anxiousness of returning to the Palace. Norah had repressed her fears for the moment… until the source of all her dread came waltzing through the door.

Norah had her back to both of the new occupants as Hulin entered into the room the same time his presence was overshadowed by Ermac's own; he noticed most of the other prisoners and guards in the room didn't even seem to notice the Edeanian. The construct's green eyes immediately found him and Black grumbled a curse when he started to make his way over to where he was. The baker, who didn't even seem to see the other Kahn's guard when she finally did turn around, turned white at the sight of her new contract owner standing in the doorframe.

Even though his back was still healing, Erron grunted as he began to sit up straight, his bones cracking as he worked his way up from laying on his stomach to sitting upright on the table. The ex-cupbearer had just begun replacing his old bandages for fresh ones. The moment he was seated Erron could already feel them slipping off of him as Ermac came forward.

Despite that she was not fond of Ermac, Norah still frowned when he turned to her with an indifferent, but still sharp enough stare, for her to understand that she was not needed as a spectator to their conversation. It seemed the Edenian had his own discussion in mind, and beckoned her with a jerk of his head towards the door.

At first, Erron thought he saw a flash of defiance in her eyes, but any minuscule amount that she did show was smothered by her downtrodden expression at him silently calling her. Timidly, her feet shuffled across the stone floor to him. Erron watched as they went through the doorframe and out of sight, and even with them gone, he still felt the slight pity for her.

"You did not inform the Kahn of your activities," Ermac accused. The being of ten thousand souls did not seem stirred at the sight of his condition and waited for an explanation.

"He doesn't need to know everything I do," Black growled. It was true, Kotal knew that Erron wasn't bound to the Palace as the others were and had accepted it for some time now. However, if Ermac was sent looking for him, it had to mean there was a development that needed his participation. "What is it?"

"The Emperor demands your attendance for the beheading of the rebels tomorrow."

The contract guard knew that he wasn't in the position to protest a summons—especially when he dragged Ermac to fetch him instead of a regular palace sentry. Kotal Kahn only used one of the other enforcers as a way to demonstrate to Erron that no was not an acceptable answer—only compliance.

"I'll be there," Black nodded.

His fellow guardsman nodded his reply and began making his departure. Black knew that Ermac wouldn't say anything to the Kahn unless Kotal asked and he knew the Emperor wouldn't until he returned to the palace tomorrow. By that time, Erron would have a sufficient enough lie that didn't involve telling him that he took a servant's beatings because of his unruly conscious.

Erron sighed. What the hell _was_ he going to say?

Still, seated on the table, his blue eyes looked down at the floor below him. After days of laying in the same position, it beckoned him to stand; stretch his sore and stiff limbs, and get away from the damn table he was prisoned on.

Bracing his hands on the surface of the table, he slowly lowered himself until his boots made contact with the cold stone floor.

He never knew something as mundane as standing on his feet could feel so blissful, and it was the only word to describe it as Black finally left the medical table. Pain shot all through his back, and he groaned at the stinging pain that surfaced every time he moved. Some of the scabs that had already begun to form ripped when he straightened up, and he could feel the warm drops of his blood already running down his back, but ignored it.

Now that he could stand, Erron did the only thing he wanted to do for the first time in days— use the latrine in solitude. He would never mention it, but Black had held in his full bladder for the sake of his embarrassment and hers. It had been an inconvenient task each time he had need for the chamber pot that included having her use her strength to shift him to the side of the table. It had only gotten worse the first couple of days when he couldn't arch his back to reach the buttons of his trousers without immense pain. Almost as if he was a dying dog she felt obligated throwing her last bit of food at, Norah had to assist him with that as well. Thankfully, that had only occurred twice.

Lacing his fingers together, Erron flipped over both of his hands until the palms were faced away and cracked his fingers. Carefully, he strode to the door and tried to pay as much attention to his back as possible. The gunslinger's wounded back wasn't in as much agony, but each step still felt cumbersome.

Already halfway across the room, Black could feel the envious and hateful stares from the other whipped prisoners. They had weeks to heal, depending on the amount of lashes they received, and seeing him walking around only gave them more cause to feel anything but aversion to the Kahn's guard.

Erron rose his eyebrows in a curt acknowledgement at them that he truly didn't care what they thought. The guard standing by the entrance of the door looked him over with a skeptical frown, and before he could order him back to his table, Erron interjected: "Just takin' a piss. Mind tellin' me where I can do that? Or should I do it on the floor?"

The tribunal guard scoffed but allowed him to pass. "To the left all the way down the hall."

Black wondered as he passed through the door, if the guards were always so gullible—it would have been an opportune moment to collect his guns and kill who he wanted—or if the guardsman truly didn't think Erron had it in him to do anything vigorous and deadly.

Perhaps there was truth to that, because when Erron got outside the door, he wished he had his full strength. The Kanh's guard had only caught the tail end of their conversation, but he didn't need to see Hulin pulling her face forward with his hand under her chin to see that his mouth on her's was unwanted.

There were guards stationed at both ends of the stone hallway, but none of them even bothered to turn their heads in the direction of the Edenian until Norah's hand came up and slapped him brutally across the face. Hulin had just pulled away from her when she had done it— the kiss looked merely like a peck on the lips— but his invasive and undesired attention was enough to propel her off whatever ledge she had been balancing on trying to keep her composure around him.

The slap was enough to cause Hulin to step back, but still she did not allow him any time to recoil from her continued onslaught. The cupbearer seethed at him, her eyes filled with rage while her face contorted into disgust.

"You son of a bitch!" Her open palm struck his face once more and caused him to stagger back even farther. Norah launched at him, this time, her hand curled into a fist. Prepared, this time, Hulin managed to block her punch by simply holding his arm out, creating a shield. The baker didn't let it stop her, and as if she was unaware, or didn't care he had her wrist in his hand to keep her at bay, her opposite arm wrapped around the back of his neck and tried to pull his face towards the fist that bucked in his grasp. When she couldn't, she resorted to thrashing and screaming at him as much as she could.

For the moment, Black was unsure if he wanted to intervene only because he felt that Norah certainly deserved to vent her anger out on him, but the moment that he saw the guards abandon their station and make their ways towards the altercation, was when Erron decided he should do something.

Norah had managed to slip her wrist from his grip and left a set of red claw marks down Hulin's face before the gunslinger was able to pull her from the Edenian in a bear hug. The torturer only raised a single eyebrow as she continued to buck and strain against the marksman, and every time the baker thrashed, Erron could feel his scabs breaking apart. He didn't care for the moment and contained his attention on the screaming, vehement woman trying to break out of his hold.

As if finally accepting that she was not going to be let free, Norah attacked him with her words instead. "You murdered her! You son of a bitch— you murdered her!"

Whatever Norah had planned to say next, died to make room for the mournful sob that echoed across the hall like a weeping ghost. Erron could tell she was repeating the same thing over and over, even if it was hard to decipher over the sounds of her bemoaning. The mercenary felt her fight dwindle away but continued to hold her in spite of the pain as she began to slump in his arms.

With her head hanging down, Black could feel each time her body shivered, and each tremor sent tears cascading to the floor. Norah had her fingers over his hands, trying to pry them off when she had been fighting him, but now her fingers remained lax against the top of his hand. He could feel his hand burn from where she had scratched him, but it was nothing compared to the pain that had flooded his back. Still, Erron paid no attention to it, especially when he caught sight of Hulin's face.

The Edenian seemed annoyingly smug, even if his face was blank, as he touched his cheek and frowned at the blood droplets on his fingers. Looking at her with disapproval, he said: "It was never personal, my dear— as I had mentioned to you before."

Erron felt her exhale in his arms before her head lifted to him. Her bun had come undone in the scuffle, and the curtain of greasy, stringy hair that curtained around her face made her look like a wrathful banshee.

"I will kill you for it," Norah growled malignantly." That is how _personal_ it is to me."

The Palace employee gave her an amused sneer as if her words had came from a child, and turned his back to them without uttering another word. The two guards that had come over to stop her looked at the pair of false Earthrealmers, and seeing that she was under control, they as well turned their back and returned to their post.

Erron could sense that while she was under control, she was nowhere near calm. Black continued to hold her in his arms as she breathed heavily, lost in her thoughts at the moment as each heated exhale helped sponge her temper away slowly. As soon as he sensed that she was becoming more placid, Black began to peel his arms off of her gradually. However, as soon as the baker seemed to realize who had been holding her finally, she shoved his arms forcefully away with a grunt and began to storm off.

Norah disappeared back into the main chamber and left him standing alone in the poorly lit hall. His mind pulled different directions about what to do next until Abraham's words came back to him like the old driver had been a moderator. Even so, Erron knew that he would have to return to the room to take care of his back, but at least he could allow her a couple of minutes of solitude.

After he finished using the privy, the hired gun shuffled back to the main chamber. Black immediately spotted her in the chair by the medical table and without the slightest clue of what to say, sat on the table.

At first, she didn't even seem to notice him until he cleared his throat loud enough for her to hear. The servant's eyes were glassy and red when she looked at him; waiting for him to say something. There really wasn't anything to say, and Erron didn't want to upset her more by reminding her of what happened by asking any questions.

With her hands in her lap, his blue eyes caught the sight of a familiar color— his favorite, actually. In her hand, rolling it back and forth with her timid fingers, was a gold ring; plain and faded, possibly a hand-me-down. It looked about her size just from eyeballing it the best he could, and upon seeing that, filled him with an ominous feeling.

Norah looked back at him, and it was evident she had the same conjecture about the small object.

Suddenly, the kiss in the hall made disgusting sense. Even in Outworld, every marriage was sealed with a kiss. It wasn't uncommon for masters to marry their servants if it was a clause in their contract; by signing the contract, the servant already submitted their approval. Typically, they were treated as mistresses and never entitled to any perks like property, or even custody of any children produced if the husband wanted to keep them. Also, all the male, or female, contract holder had to do was submit a form to make the marriage legal despite the slave's objections. It seemed that Hulin had no patience to wait for her signature, and since the tribunal orders guaranteed that she would have to the moment she arrived at the palace, and they had approved it regardless of the blank space on the paper.

The moment Hulin bought the contract, Norah became a married woman. The Edenian may have had no intention of killing her right at the moment, but she certainly was going to wish for it.

The look of horror on her face expressed that thought loud and clear without a word needing to be uttered.


	25. Chapter 25

** Chapter 25 ** **  
Once Upon A Time in the West  
Part 7  
 _Don't Fear The Reaper_**

* * *

The sun had already dipped under the horizon in the distance when both Norah and Erron Black emerged from the depths of the Coliseum. Despite the sunset casting the entire capitol in the citrine glow of its last departing rays, they felt little warmth as it embraced them with the first light both of them had both seen in sometime.

The hospice had been dark, dirty and crowded, but Erron knew he wasn't speaking only for himself when he would much rather be back in the Coliseum then on their way back to the palace. Albeit, there was some comfort having his pistols back on his hips, his mask back where it should be, and looking like his old self again. However, the gunslinger knew just how trivial that amenity was, especially when he couldn't escape his asphyxiating apprehension.

Whenever he had tried to conjure up a decent enough excuse for the Kahn regarding his absence, there was always one detail that crumbled his excuses each time. Also, the more Black thought about how peculiar it was that Ermac seemed blasé to his condition, the more he realized it was most likely because his fellow guard already knew about him being whipped before he had arrived at the Colesium. If that was the case, word about his actions surely must have spread beforehand and reached the palace. And with Erron not present at the Kahn's side to argue against the rumor, sent Ermac to find out the validity of the gossip.

If this ended up being true, and the construct had only visited the Coliseum for confirmation, the repercussions for what he had done were far greater than what he initially perceived what would happen.

When he had agreed to take her place, and endure the lacerations, the Emperor's guard had only considered the damage that would have been done to his flesh. Reflecting back on it now, and seeing Ermac just hours ago, filled him with detestation.

He was an Emperor's guard, one of the five whose sole duty was to uphold law in Outworld. Erron Black had worked hard for his position, and had used word of mouth about his ruthlessness and cunning to acquire that employment. There was no doubt he was still hated for being an Earthrealmer, but for many of his bounties, and anyone on the wrong end of his gun, it was the reputation that had surpassed the trivial whereabouts of his birth-realm.

However, the moment he let that whip lash at his skin, and spill his blood to the Coliseum sand, in front of various plebeians of social strength, was the very moment, that he had tarnished his reputation. Regardless if the people in the pews knew the reason why he was there, they had been more than happy to see him there clutching the manacles in his hands. They wanted his skin carved by the whip, and wanted his blood spilled, and Erron knew that it was simply because he was an Earthrealmer. The marksman should have known that it went much deeper than that.

He was an Emperor's guard, one of the most dangerous in Outworld selected to protect Kotal Kahn... and he had been whipped like a dog in front of the masses. How were the people of Outworld supposed to fear him — or take Kotal Kahn and the others seriously after this? He had demoted himself in their eyes and how could they not have a different opinion about him now?

With a heavy lump sinking to his stomach, anger boiling his blood, and his fist tightening in to a ball, he understood that it was not only his reputation he had sullied, but the others as well. Perhaps that was the reason why Kotal Kahn wanted him back at the palace immediately, and he wondered if the 'beheadings' Ermac had mentioned was a ruse to get him to hasten his pace, or if it the Osh-tekk would use it as a spectacle to those who doubted the Emperor and his employed because of the gunslinger's actions. Black suspected that it was a mixture of the two, but whichever it ended up being, the marksman couldn't help but notice how slowly he started to walk when he acknowledged the fact that Kotal would no doubt would want to have a long, _long_ discussion with him.

_There's not enough wine in Outworld..._

It only made him dread returning back to his place of employment and face the inevitable questioning from his boss about why he allowed himself to be whipped. No matter how hard he tried, there was no excuse he could think of that would fool Kotal that he didn't see the Emperor quickly dismissing. The Osh-Tekk wasn't an idiot, and despite how embarrassing the truth was, Erron knew deep down that it was best not to push his luck by lying and better to just bite the bullet. The truth about his actions would be the only thing that Kotal would believe. Accept what he did, though, was a different matter that Erron wasn't confident about, but it was the only good card in the shitty hand he had been dealt.

However, he knew that as soon as he mentioned what he had been doing it would also involve Norah partaking in the discussion as well with the mercenary and the Emperor. Black already knew the steps Kotal would take to confirm Erron's story and would summon her to hear her side of the tale. Although he doubted Kotal's focus would be on punishing her, and Erron would get the brunt of whatever the Kahn saw fit, still let out a sigh. Despite knowing fully well what would happen, Black decided it was best to keep mute, and refrain from letting her know she would be beckoned in the future. Was there really a point? She'd find out sooner or later. After all, she had more troubling things to worry about…

Norah hadn't spoken a word after Hulin's visit and for the most part and behaved as if his presence was completely non-existent. Perhaps it was in her world; she was simply encompassed in her own thoughts, a prisoner to the ramped speculations and fears that were no doubt going through her head the closer they trekked to the palace.

Every so often, Black would catch her folding her fingers until both of her hands were formed into tight balls with enough pressure to turn her knuckles white. There were no more tears that glossed over he noticed, but her eyes were still red and raw. Even a blind man could see that she was angry, and probably would have cried if she simply had any left to spill. She maintained a constant glare, marring her face and made her look like a poisonous snake ready to uncurl and bite anything that trespassed in front of her. Despite her demeanor, though, it didn't convince Erron.

While she looked prepared for a fight, he could sense how petrified she really was; her breathing kept noticeably fluctuating from deep and heated breaths, to her breath getting caught in the back of her throat as if someone had crushed her windpipe with an invisible hand. Also, he wasn't exactly walking the fastest, but her steps were even more timid and measured. He truly felt as if he was dragging her against her will like the first time he had taken her to the palace. The only difference this time was he now understood how she felt in the past and now, because he was also going against his own wishes.

There had been a reason why Tama wanted him to personally walk her back to the palace — it had always been meant as a jab at him. Because he knew its intention, to bother him with purposeful deja-vu, Black should have persisted in letting the woman getting the best of him. With much regret, it still did no matter how much he fought against it. He didn't enjoy being Norah's assigned reaper, not only because he simply didn't want to force Norah back under Tama's orders—again— but because this time only a few short blocks separated her from inevitable demise.

Black wasn't stupid and neither was she; they both had a pretty good, horrible hunch, about what would happen to her the minute she arrived in Hulin's clutches. It repulsed Erron and in turn, angered him when he thought of Hulin forcing her to consummate their counterfeit marriage; the gunslinger had found him repulsive even before he really got to know him.

There was a rumor circulating that the Edenian participate in necrophilia; whispers from servants in the halls that caught his ears as he passed by. From the look on Norah's face, it seemed that she had also heard that rumor. However, the pair walking towards the palace where not the only ones that hated Hulin, and Black had to wonder if it was just hateful, but flimsy gossip.

What was true, though, or at least seemed undeniable canon about the man, was that the palace interrogator was a cannibal. It wasn't that all uncommon to find cannibalism in Outworld — hell, he was certain that only Ermac and himself were the only ones at Kotal's dinner table that hadn't done it — but even with the practice being the norm, it still made her future rather bleak. What if the only reason he purchased her, was the same reason why people paid for overpriced meals...

To see if it tastes any more exuberant or not than what they are used to.

Even if it wasn't going to be his skin on Hulin's plate, it was enough for him to feel even more enmity for the Edenian on top of the dislike he had for him before the ridiculous tango involving the trial. He damn sure wouldn't want to eaten, and it made him feel sympathy since it seemed to be the most logical of outcomes for her.

Frankly, he found himself conflicted about what he should do. Part of him wished to remain uninvolved; to move on from all of the bullshit with the baker. If it _was_ still an option, and didn't resolve in him wallowing in his guilt afterward, then perhaps he could have settled with the callous decision for the sake of his own sanity and job. But after all he had done, Erron couldn't entertain the idea because of his conflicted conscious.

On top of that, there were two sets of voices that nagged at him, like ghosts speaking in his ear, and told him to help her if he could. He blamed Dr. Finnely and his Latin _fac fortia et patere_ horseshit. The other voice was his surrogate father and every memory of when younger Black had caught Abraham's lack of tolerance towards those who harmed others for pleasure – and that included men who laid hands on women or children.

Even when he was a boy, Erron had always been intrigued by Abraham's vehemence towards rapists in particular. The stagecoach driver hated them, and the more grotesque the assault, the more brutal the older Black had been with his _justice_. The driver never told him why he was so passionate, except that they committed a sin and should be punished, and Erron's childish intellect had just assumed it was just the way he was.

With that understanding about the older man, the gunslinger supposed it was an attitude he himself assimilated from him after watching Abraham as a Deputy Marshall in Abilene. As the younger Black got older, he noticed he ended up treating them just the same but with a noticeable difference. There was satisfaction, but Abraham had seen it as another tally-mark that contributed against his escape from his damnation, despite most people agreeing and telling him he had been swinging a hammer on God's behalf against the depraved. The gunslinger understood now there was something that plagued the man, and it explained his violence towards them. If the ex-Earthrealmer had to guess, he would have bet it involved the mother that Abraham hardly mentioned.

Unlike Abraham though, the bounty hunter never developed a conscious about killing them — it was rather easy and he didn't recall losing a night's sleep over it. Once he caved in a man's nose with the butt of one of his pistol. He could have shot him, but refrained in favor for a more heinous, and in his opinion, more deserving alternative. There had been nothing left that was recognizable of the man's face, resembling more of a broken melon that had fallen from a ledge than a person. Erron didn't blame the Outworld girl for looking at him the way she did, with him standing there like a blood-soaked demon in the smugglers tent, but he still he felt he could have gotten some gratitude in that moment. He didn't hold it against her anymore, especially when he reflected on how savage Erron had been in her eyes, and only wished he had heard the commotion before the man had finished. The other slave smugglers had banished him from their operation after that, and despite some bruises on his face, the marksman hadn't cared what the pirates thought of him. They eventually got what was coming to them, though, when Kotal Kahn came to power, and lost their heads. Good riddance.

Even though rape used to be so common in such an archaic realm as Outworld, was no longer tolerated and meant either death or public castration; it was one of the Tribunal laws now. Shao Kahn hadn't showed a sliver of care about the subject as Kotal did. The Osh-tekk hated the crime as well —he hated almost every crime — and did his best trying to eradicate it as a daily norm of Outworld life. It worked for the most part, but it was still prevalent; people were savages no matter the culture — no matter the realm. At least the punishments were more severe than they had been in the past…

Momentarily, Black pondered on the possibility of getting Hulin in hot water by convincing her to report that he assaulted her— whether it was true or not. However, he knew the Barristers wouldn't look at Norah in such an unbiased light since she was now Hulin's wife. It would have been Hulin's word against her's and his position as a free citizen automatically tipped the scale in the Edenian's favor. Sadly, he knew that nothing would be beneficial from her saying anything.

They reached the outskirts of the marketplace by the time the last slips of sunlight had fled away and made room for dark tapestry above them. The crescent moon over their heads, nearly blocked by the heavy clouds and created a black, starless night, provided little light to guide them. Luckily, they had pinpricks of orange all around them; in the houses, from the street lanterns and from the nearby taverns that glowed sporadically around them like fireflies in the dark. As they walked in silence, the only noise from either of them being soft footsteps on the sand, the mercenary realized that there was a second option.

He could just kill the son of a bitch.

Black certainly had no qualms about it and Hulin was somebody that nobody would miss; not even the Emperor seemed to like him.

Looking at her then in the direction of the palace, the sharp-shooter tapped his finger rhythmically in contemplation against the handle of one of his revolvers; his tired mind immediately set to work if seeing if it was at all doable without repercussions.

Glancing at the baker out of the corner of his eye once again, he let out a breathed chuckle that was only audible to him.

_Doubt she would have any objections to it_.

It would certainly be another good deed on his part, on top of sparing her back. But how to do it?

His guns were always the first thing to pop into his head — simple and quick. However, the gunman knew he couldn't use his revolvers. It would have been too obvious who had killed the Edenian with a bullet hole in his skull and Black the only one that wielded firearms in the palace.

A knife was the only obvious choice. But he had to wonder, despite him doing it, would suspicion fall to her instead of him? The baker had a more obvious motive than he did and her hand always gravitated towards knives for self-defense.

Erron chewed on his dry, bottom lip behind his mask as his blue eyes once again migrated to her direction. Observing her defeated visage, the bounty hunter began to reconsider his previous plan, and after careful thought, started to even criticize it.

Black knew there was nothing for him to personally gain from killing Hulin as much as there was for her. In fact, it would be another selfish thing to take away from her by doing it himself. As much as he wanted to, the gunslinger knew that if he still wanted to have a job afterwards he couldn't just kill Hulin.

Even if the Edenian was despicable and whether or not Erron was an employee at Kotal's side, not even the Emperor would approve of him killing the loyal palace interrogator without just cause. The baker was contracted, and it infuriatingly and regrettably, meant he could do whatever he saw fit with his property. The title of 'wife' or not, the contract didn't make her a free citizen with rights. If the mercenary did intervene, Kotal Kahn would see him being meddlesome in something he shouldn't be involved in. His job was the welfare of the Outworld and not to butt in on domestic squabbles, no matter how sunk into the affair he had become.

Yet again, Black had to question what the Emperor would make of Norah defending herself and thus _accidently_ killing him in self-defense.

It was an exploitable loophole but it still had one problem. While slaves had the right to defend themselves by Kombat—if there was a _witness_ who could attest that it was to protect oneself— Erron knew the claim was hard to prove. The Barristers hardly believed it to be anything else than a distrustful servant killing their master whenever it was called to court, and always ended in death for the slave if there wasn't anybody else to say otherwise.

However, if Black just happened to be in the room, delivering her to the palace as instructed by the court, then he doubted that anybody would be able disagree that…

Stopping his train of thought, the bounty hunter realized how implausible it sounded. He was already poking holes in his own bullshit story because of one, important fact: there is no reason for him to be present in the room. Erron was simply ordered to deliver her to the palace, not to Hulin personally, and the Edenian wasn't so imbecilic to attack her in front of a Kahn's guard. Immediately, he rolled his eyes thinking up a plot that a three-year-old wouldn't buy.

The only thing that was left was the must cowardly of options. She could just run — get out of Z'unkahrah before they even got to the palace. Sourly, he sighed in disappointment upon realizing that it wasn't an option either. From what he had gathered listening to the trial, she had already tried that, and failed miserably. Besides, nobody would believe that the baker slipped from him — injured or not.

Black, after a few more moments of plotting and concocting no other brilliant ideas, caught himself shaking his head.

As much as he hated to admit it, there was really nothing he could do.

The gunslinger couldn't kill Hulin without getting his head chopped off in return — Kotal would not spare him even if he was loyal — and he could not let her do his dirty work for him while Erron stood by as a bystander; it simply made no sense.

The choice was made for him because he had none — he hated that.

Apart of him was almost thankful for the simplistic answer, but it was practically transparent in substance compared to the heavy and dense guilt he felt.

Ironically, he suddenly remembered how much he had wanted her dead when she first came to the palace and how she had skipped past death with only a couple bruises and a brand on her wrist the first time and acquired a position as a cup-bearer. The past Erron would have been happy knowing she was going to die now, and that he would no longer have to deal with her. He just simply didn't harbor that malicious thought anymore and while it was true, that Norah continued to be a pebble in his shoe, felt remorse.

Black in a way was choosing himself, sparing his own life and well-being and he knew it was conceited. It was _life_ though, regardless if he still owed her a debt he hadn't finished paying. He knew taking her place in the Coliseum didn't make them even, and despite that his situation wasn't as precarious as hers, felt as if Hulin was robbing him as well. The marksman had worked hard trying to keep his word — even risking more than he had bargained for in the long run. Even if he had just started, Erron knew walking her back to the palace would now be the worst of the slights against her that he had been a participant in.

What was he to do, though? Forsake everything? Get himself killed or imprisoned for half-assed schemes that would backfire?

Erron knew he could not involve himself anymore with her considering the turn of events. Not because there might not be a reason anymore after Hulin killed her, but for his own sake. Perhaps it was best that it come to this tragic conclusion and it just be another example how trying to help anyone never panned out for him, and why it was best for him to remain _selfish_. Still, the practical reflection didn't help coax him out of feeling pity for her, or annoyance at his own incapability to assist.

Maybe, just maybe, if the servant was lucky enough that Hulin wouldn't kill her when she arrived, he could find some way to aid her later. The idea did help smooth his turbulent regret about standing idle for a moment. However, it was just as terrible thinking about why he would keep her alive as much as it was thinking of what he would do to her corpse. Death almost seemed like the _kind_ thing for her, but that was no comfort, either.

What did ease him though, was her clearly resentful demeanor.

Although scared, Norah almost seemed in defiance against her own timidity and what she had been handed. That wasn't to say though she was naïve to what very well might happen. Also, it was apparent the weight on her shoulders, from all the affliction put upon her since he had known her, was beginning to show and made her doubt her own confidence even more— despite there was still the need for self-preservation. He didn't doubt she would put up a fight and kill him if she needed to, but her stamina seemed stagnant.

Erron assumed that finding out about her new marriage had dampened her spirit, but there was still semblance of revolt in her even now, and when the opportunity came, would show itself. The woman wanted revenge for her friend, and even though Black wasn't sure how he had killed the older Earthrealm woman, it had been horrible enough for Norah to genuinely vow to kill him in return. She would, regardless if that meant the noose around her own neck. At least, she would have some dignity in the end. Especially when freedom was such a distant memory for her with no way of ever getting reclaimed.

Then again, she did pull the trigger of his gun while it had been level at his head, so maybe there was _some_ hope for the cup-bearer. And like last time, even if she didn't manage to get out a killing blow and Hulin, she was going out with her boots on. Black could respect that even if it didn't help as much as it should.

The third, almost impossible theory, was if Hulin didn't kill her, and just wanted a puppet for his own amusement. If that was the case, then she certainly was going to raise hell— Erron knew that all too well from his past experience. Her fear would disappear over time and she would make Hulin regret his decision.

For a second, he felt sorry for the Edenian, and allowed himself a light and brief smile in amusement.

However, and the thought deflated his mood, the palace inquisitor wasn't Erron and there was no guarantee that he would let her little temper tantrums slide so easily. There was a reason why Hulin was so good at his job and had managed to keep it while under the rule of three different Kahns. That knowledge snuffed out the previous confidence he had reserved.

The outlaw sighed quietly but heavily as he glanced her way briefly.

Whatever did happen, the irrefutable certainty was that she was going to die no matter what did end up happening.

Norah caught his gaze, turned, and shook her head at him. "Please stop that."

Black raised an eyebrow, unsure of what she meant. "What?"

Her eyes grew dark with indignant annoyance. "Stop looking at me as if I am some sort of helpless concubine. I am tired of it."

"Wasn't thinkin' that," he replied back.

"Then what were you thinking?" she challenged, pulling him from his thoughts and looking at him with skepticism. The corner of Erron's mouth pulled sourly to the side. The bounty hunter didn't want to say the truth, because he found it redundant; she already knew that her predicament was what it was. He could tell her a lie, but she wouldn't listen to him anyway. Norah never did before so why would now be different? Especially when she was huffing at him like a buffalo waiting for a reason to charge. But since she had asked…

"Just thinkin' about how much I need a drink," the cowboy sighed, smoothing an eyebrow with one of his fingers. It might have technically been lie since Erron had other things on his mind, but the feeling enough was accurate. To his surprise, it was also mutual.

"So could I," she murmured, mostly to herself. It was the only time her attitude had shifted and the small response that bordered on a light-heartened joke, was a welcome reprieve for both of them, even if it didn't fix the downtrodden mood entirely.

"Didn't take you for the drinking type," he remarked honestly, raising a single eyebrow.

Irately, she turned to him with a bitter expression. "Why? Because I did not enjoy the whiskey you forced me to drink when I was late with your delivery?" She scorned. " _Forgive me_ for giving you that _impression_."

Although irritated by her hateful tone, didn't offer back a heated rebuttal. He never did apologize to her for that joke, and he deserved to get kicked by her words for it even if it was a long time ago. Still, he saw an opportunity to at least show her he was sorry for it, as well as everything else he wouldn't get the chance to repay.

Placing his hand on his hip, he waited until he got her attention and nudged his head towards his shoulder, pointing lazily in the direction behind him. "There're plenty of places on this street. I wasn't kiddin' when I said I needed one, and if you do partake in it…"

"No thank you," the baker refused.

Annoyed, Black huffed: "Then you can just watch while I—"

A guttural rumble echoed next to him, one that was all too familiar to hear in Outworld, and he frowned as his eyes landed on her growling stomach. As if it hadn't happened at all, she ignored it completely, but her pained look still betrayed the stoic façade that she was actually embarrassed by how loud it had been. Remembering back to the Coliseum, it came to Erron's attention that she hadn't really eaten much since he had been whipped. The last thing she had managed to eat, she had thrown back up. Perhaps that was why she looked so sickly as she did, not only repulsed by Hulin, but from lack of food in her belly as well.

At this state, she couldn't fight off a fly.

With a roll of his eyes, the sharpshooter whirled around and began to head in the opposite direction. Black passed by her and she stopped walking to watch him, bewildered by his sudden change of course. He thought it would have been obvious what his intention was to her, but when he halted and turned to look over his shoulder, Erron noticed it was lost on her. It didn't surprise him; anytime he tried to do anything nice she never recognized it. The gunman rose an eyebrow at her, as if feigning perplexity for her misunderstanding.

"You coming?"

"What?" she questioned, confusion glossing over her face.

Erron walked to her and Norah crossed her arms across her chest, as if shielding herself as a precaution. Standing in front of her, he tilted his head in the route he had been heading and explained: "If you wanna drink, do it on a full stomach."

"I do not want to drink," Norah argued.

Black let out a slight _'hmpf'_ at her. "Yeah, you do."

"You know so much don't you, Black?" she snorted. "Why do you care if my stomach is full or not? What does it matter anyway? I am dead once I reach the palace. I know you think that as well, which is why you are constantly looking at me. Is that why you are being so _generous?_ _You_ are the last person I want to drink or eat with."

Black scoffed immediately at her. "I can think of two others that you'd hate more than me."

Norah's eyes narrowed into a hateful expression; she knew damn well that he meant Tama and Hulin and with those two coming to mind, who were the devilish architects of her misery, caused her to glare rancorously at him. Her expression alone made her feelings clear: it was all that she was thinking about and being reminded of it was as unnecessary as it was unwanted. In the end, the truthful fact only swelled her anger around more like a choppy sea.

He frowned behind his mask and she reciprocated it as well even though she was unaware he was doing it. With a spiteful stare at his silence, as if staying mute condemned him, Norah turned her back to brunette marched away from him without a word in response to him, as if she had not heard him at all. The mercenary thought of giving up on her at the moment and continuing to the nearest tavern to sample the Outworld swill he hated.

His blue eyes hit the back of her head as she kept on. He let out a scoff, his nerves bristled by her persistence to hate him even now when it seemed so minuscule in comparison to her problems. Unable to bite his tongue he called out to her: "You really that willing to get it over with?"

When she suddenly stopped, Black crossed his own arms over his chest, and waited on her patiently when he watched her shoulders sag forward in defeat. She stayed silent for several moments, allowing the voices in the distance to carry in the night wind and travel to their ears; reminding them that they were not the only ones sharing the street. He hoped nobody was eavesdropping. Actually, perhaps shooting something or someone would make him feel better...

"I would rather not be drunk when I see my... _husband_ "— The cup-bearer explained, seething the last word with such mocking disgust that it almost made him shudder — "I would much rather keep my clarity when... when I do _see_ him."

Air exhaled out of his nose at the pledge, as if he heard a humorous joke. As a matter of fact, it was more of a sigh of relief to her sincerity. Norah was right and being inebriated wouldn't have done her any favors, especially considering her famished state.

Striding towards her, his feet sinking into the sand, he only stopped when he saw her back stiffen at his proximity. Erron didn't want to make her uncomfortable, or himself for that matter, but leaned in close enough so that what he said next could be whispered.

"Best killin' isn't done on an empty stomach, then."

It was simple advice as much as it was the truth. There was no use in going into a fight with your gut growling and clawing at you. Black himself had lost a couple listening to it instead of watching for the next punch. The bounty hunter hadn't meant it only as that though, but more of an obscure confession that he supported her decision.

Pivoting her feet until she was facing him, Black saw that it had been much more than just a friendly tip. It had been persuasion. Still, doubt clouded her visage; formed only because of her never-ending reservations about the marksman.

"You are not going to stop me?" the dark, sardonic question was rhetorical, they both knew that, but one she still needed to ask for more confirmation. She didn't believe him to be on her side, as it was understandable since she hated him, but he could still see she was battling how earnest his statement had sounded in her ears. "You are a palace guard. You are supposed to stop me."

Instead of telling her, he did one better. Reaching down, pain hitting his back from stretching his hand to his shoes, Black plucked the knife that he kept in the inside of his boot. It was certainly not the flimsily kitchen blades he had caught her using. Unlike her choice of knives, that was only used for cutting different types of food, the bowie knife was only intended for slicing flesh— and had only been ever used for that; it was his back-up that saved him more times than he could count. Norah seemed to know the blade's purpose as well and looked at the knife as if he had just ordered her to mutilate the nearest stray animal she could find.

"It's better than nothing," Erron told her, a despondent smile flickering behind his mask.

Norah looked up at him with quiet puzzlement. From the look on her face alone, Erron's previous assumption that the servant didn't recognize whenever he was trying to be nice was more on-target than just being a simple joke to himself. She looked from his personal knife to back to him with cynicism, as if trying to find his selfish intentions somewhere written on his brown mask.

However, she also stared at him with a strange mixture of both anguish and gratitude. The cupbearer knew he had been sincere, but it was just so odd to her that she was having difficulty deciphering if it was a lucid illusion or not. His history with her sullied what she was seeing before her, and Norah couldn't allow herself to accept that his offer wasn't a selfless one. The gunslinger could see her fighting with herself about that thought as well, and it was probably why she felt the need to ask him.

"They will know it was you that gave me the knife — it is yours."

Black had known that as well before withdrawing it out of his boot; they would want to know where she got the weapon. While he should have cared that he would get in trouble for knowingly supplying her a tool with an intention to seek revenge, and as much as the idea should have concerned him, it surprisingly didn't.

Perhaps how unaffected he felt about it was an apperception telling him that he was doing the right thing. Knowing he was doing something good was still a foreign concept to him, but not too unfamiliar. It had only been buried under the persona of the heartless mercenary, who seemed to permit him to help her even if that heartless side of him didn't fully support it. Erron rebelled against listening to the colder, perhaps more logical side of him, and despite how difficult it was to accept at first, felt at ease with his decision. Helping her was the right thing to do. The knife gave her a chance; the only bit of aid he could offer against both of their unsettling odds. The only thing that did bother him though, was that he couldn't do more.

Surprisingly, the explanation came out both easy and truthful.

"I really don't care."

Norah looked at him with a stunned expression. It wasn't the first time he had uttered those same compilation of words together, each time in the past with either disdain or aloofness. Erron could see that this time was different, as if it was the first time the baker was hearing them. In a way, she almost was, because Black hadn't meant it to be a negative comment, but a supportive one. Hearing his words, still very much organic to who he was, but used in a different context seemed to finally register to her there was something different about him. Still, as if catching herself, she answered him with a roll of her eyes; trying to mask and discourage what he was seeing, but seemed to fail to convince herself as much as it did him.

A long exhale escaped out of her nostrils as a brief grimace slowly came across her face. Reaching gingerly for the handle, Norah took it from him. Staring down at it in her palms, and for a moment looked as if she was going to give it back to him. Perhaps she even contemplated doing so, until she looked back at him and asked: "Why?"

Like his previous statement, the answer came truthfully from his lips. "You know why."

The baker gulped nervously. Yes, she did, and the thought of what might come sent fearful tremors over her body. It dissipated after a moment, and Erron observed in silence as her jaw tensed; gritting her teeth. Her eyes blinked rapidly as hot air blew out of her nose. A malevolent glare, not intended for him, flickered to him before her venomous eyes looked down at the knife she had been given. Her anger was reassuring to him, especially considering how quickly her rage had been replaced by her fear.

Looking back at him, she offered him a nod, letting him know her appreciation. After a moment, and her nerves began to settle, the baker tucked the knife behind her back and inside of the black wrap tied around her waist, concealing it from sight.

The corner of her mouth tugged to the side, and with a tired tone, she admitted: "I am rather hungry. Perhaps I can stomach one meal— despite your company."

"Don't sound so happy about it," Erron teased, his voice still stony.

"You are the last person I want to share food with," Norah explained, crossing her arms across her chest as she passed by him to walk in the direction he had originally intended. The baker did pause for a moment and he watched as she turned over her shoulder and add: "But it is better than Tama and Hulin."

There hadn't been any other emotion other than sadness in her voice, and she continued on walking with the same despondent demeanor. Nevertheless, she had meant it as a joke, and the mercenary smiled briefly behind his mask. The feeling was mutual, she was still a pain in the ass and he didn't want to eat in her company, but they both seemed to know that it wouldn't be as bad as they were thinking — especially with booze in him and food to calm her down.

With a satisfied nod, Erron caught up to her in a couple of strides and led on to the place he had in mind. They didn't say anything to each other, but both of them felt awkward nonetheless. There wasn't anything that needed to be said and neither of them felt compelled to fill the void with clumsy attempts at small talk, but still felt as if there was some element missing. Simply, the gunslinger understood that they didn't know how to react to one another. Civility was still growing between them, and both of them still continued to have a hard time accepting that it was taking root.

It was easy to know why it troubled her— she despised him— but Black fumbled with understanding why it did so for him. He should have felt satisfied about his last minute show of penance; as small as it was. Still, something picked at him the closer they came to the busier, nocturnal scene of Z'unkahrah. Lining the open doorways outside of the marketplace, patrons of all character dipped inside cantinas to and fro. Erron even caught the familiar evergreen color of the Barrister robes exiting out a bar to their left, and another set entering a brothel to his right.

One cantina bustled with noise from inside— the loudest on the street. It was somewhat unusual to see this particular tavern as busy as it was; he had visited the place before and knew it didn't receive as many visitors this time of night. Norah, the commotion pulling her attention away from her seemingly morose daydreaming, stopped to peer inside the bar out of mere curiosity; as if she knew the establishment wasn't as popular either for such a cacophony. Erron did the same and grappled his hands on his hips while he watched the moving bodies through the open windows and doorway.

Both of them could hear the sound of hands clapping to the cadence of someone strumming an Oud as they formed a circle and watched the dancers in the middle; it was a festive tune, and it reminded Erron of past merry reveries back in Abilene, Kansas. Phil Cole, the owner of the Bullshead Saloon, would come down from his room on the rare occasion and saw on his fiddle for the patrons of his business. Black immediately thought of _Irish Washerwoman_ when he heard the treble stings play an otherwise, unrecognizable tune to him; still the song was so similar it was as if he was hearing Cole playing it now. The timbre and rhythm of the Celtic song were different than what he was hearing from the Outworld lodge, but it still reminded him of it because of its lighthearted appeal. Whatever they were celebrating was obviously a joyous one and the pleasant looks on their faces and their exuberant behavior was evident enough of that.

The ex-Earthreamler already had a good idea what was going on before the song ended, and both Norah and himself saw the dancers in the middle they couldn't see before. Dressed in a cobalt blue dress with intricate turquoise beading weaved into delicate coils that ran from the bottom of her skirt, to the corner of her hip, and to the collar of her long sleeved dress, was a young Outworld woman with a beaming smile on her face. It reminded Erron of tranquil ocean waves and it obviously was not a cheap garment nor something a woman wore as an everyday staple even if she was rich. Her dark braided hair was pinned into an updo and her already attractive face was shaded with makeup. The male next to her, tall, lean and as handsome as she was, wore a long sleeved topcoat in the same cobalt color as her dress with white pants. Seeing the young couple together, blissful in each other's company and adorning the same ornate color meant that both Erron and Norah were eavesdropping on a wedding.

It was bitterly ironic, more so for her than for him, but as soon as Black could see her already gloomy disposition fall even more, he could see just how much it had hit her stumbling upon it. Her posture noticeably stiffened at the sight and her crossed arms encompassed her chest tighter. For a moment, he thought she was going to cry. The outlaw wouldn't have blamed her. Considering that she was also a newlywed, it couldn't have been easy to not only have a reminder of the fact, but to see that she would never know the joy the blushing bride inside the cantina felt. Erron felt pity for her, even if the marksman couldn't really relate.

The idea of marrying someone always seemed like more hassle than work, and even back in Earthrealm, seemed like a needless obligation to prove that you had feelings for someone. Also, based on what he had seen, married folks didn't even like each other half of the time. In those instances, it had been arranged marriages, and in his opinion, always seemed like such a headache just for the sake financial and social climbing. Black never cared for any of that, so he supposed that was why he didn't understand others that used it solely for that purpose. In Outworld, it was even worse. Despite that the law agreed you could marry whomever you wanted, depending on the circumstances, natural segregation between the classes persisted in weddings being anything more than just for money or power.

Maybe it was the rarity of seeing bona fide love between people is why Norah continued to stare at them with such heated jealously. With her contract purchased, and death on her doorstep, she would never know it. Jan Fai, whatever he was to her, had not been enough it seemed to quench what important need in her life she wanted. Not only because their fling had seemed so fleeting, but because she simply did not love him like she had said. Black suspected that she didn't even know what the feeling was. Sure love for friends, but not what the young Outworld couple had.

While it was not strange to see her angry, it was seeing her undisputedly jealous. It seemed, without even saying anything, it helped give Black an insight more about her. Even if the night with Jan Fai had been nothing but a one-night stand, which is what it sounded like to him, he could tell that there was certainly more she had desired from the encounter.

His theory was that she had made the common mistake, one that many did when venturing into love for the first time, had been lonely, and being that she was an Earthrealm look-alike, went with the only one that had shown interest in her. Regardless if she went as far as to sleep with him, it was still sad enough if she hadn't. Her insecurity made her pathetic, but understandable. He would have had to label himself a hypocrite if he himself didn't admit that he buried himself in women to feel less insecure about his nomadic lifestyle; it seldom ever worked despite making him feel somewhat better physically. He had often ignored his loneliness and moved on to the next nameless woman. So, while he didn't condone doing it as a personal therapy, Erron understood why. After everything, perhaps she needed to feel wanted in that moment, even if now all she recognized it as delusion in the end.

The bride's brown eyes caught Norah's through the window and locked on. Glancing the baker's way, he noticed while the brides' happy look dissipated into one of resentment for finding out she was being watched and the servant's fled into panic for getting caught. Erron wasn't sure if it was because they were spying on them or if she just did not like Norah regardless — women were always funny with first impressions like that — but the bride looked as if she wanted to slap the cupbearer for ruining her day. The slave briskly walked away from the cantina and away from the scolding eyes that wanted her gone.

It didn't take long for him to catch up with her, and stopped behind when she finally did herself; hearing the gunman's footsteps behind her. Her arms unhooked, and even with her back to him, watched as she dragged a hand over her eyes and down her face; removing the tears the encounter had caused to fall. Inhaling deeply, and shuddering out a breath, Norah cast a glance over her shoulder and nodded at him; silently beckoning him to lead the way, once again.

The gunslinger sighed and began to pick up his pace. Black wasn't sure if he should ask or say anything to remedy about what had happened. Maybe it was just best not to comment on it at all, and just let it sink away into the trepid sands of her already convoluted mind.

Stealing a glance, Erron could already see that what had happened was being absorbed by quick sand, even though she still wore a discouraged visage. Black could already see the cogs in her mind turn; preparing for later about what to expect and how to react. He was grateful that she was already getting over it, he hated trying to make females feel better since and was never good at it.

A coldness crept over him, washing down his spine like someone grazing a cold piece of steal down him back. It caused him to slow to a halt, and it chilled his bones.

The gunslinger already felt his fingers drift towards the handle of his revolver, as they had done many times when he was unnerved; his intuition feeling someone staring at the back of his head with intention.

Norah noticed his stiff stance, and he caught her looking down at his fingers — the very same ones hovering over his pistol — and then back to him. The baker didn't ask him, but knew something mysterious and nefarious had seemed to aggravate him. In silence, he observed as her eyes danced from window to window behind him, to every dark crevice between buildings and then back to him. Her eyebrows furrowed at something over his left shoulder and Black saw her face relax slightly, but then twisted into a scowl.

There was no danger, that was affirmed by her expression, but there was someone watching them.

Craning his head slightly over his shoulder, he found who it was the bride from the cantina... and at the same time, it _wasn't._

Norah had already chosen to leave both of them behind and briskly marched away; trying to avoid a confrontation that might spring up. Erron on the other hand, glared at the bright cobalt eyes that laughed at him from the doorway. Despite that it was a different costume, he knew the eyes more than he wanted to — from the lobby of the People's Tribunal. First on the little girl, and then on the old receptionist.

Possessing the newlywed's body, the blue-eyed entity beneath the vessel flashed him a toothy grin as its eyes flickered from Norah's back and then back to him pointedly. Immediately, he had the oppressive notion that he had been followed. By who or what was the question on his mind. Why had he encountered it at the People's Tribunal with its riddles, and why did he feel as if it was mocking his ignorance; the eyes beaming with an arrogance that it thought it was smarter than he was.

Raising the bride's hand, the azure eyes brightened sparkled like a mischievous sprite, and curled the olive toned fingers at him one by one like spider legs curling; greeting him sarcastically.

Erron was about to demand what it wanted — whatever it was — but watched as the blue eyes dulled back into the bride's shade of brown. The woman blinked, seemingly dizzy and placed a hand to her forward as she slid against the outside of the door.

The woman's new husband seemed to notice her dizziness and rushed to her side, clamoring to help her back to her feet and asking her what the matter was. Even though he didn't see it, Black could sense the groom's eyes on the back of his head, accusing him of having something to do with it but too chicken-shit to ask.

The gunslinger, his hand still lingering over the revolver managed to catch up with the baker who hadn't noticed the bride, and kept a steady and cool pace the rest of the way.

However, it didn't escape him when Norah happened to notice that he looked warily and malevolently at anyone they passed by on their way to the cantina in mind, but was unsatisfied when they appeared to be harmless.

He didn't make an attempt to hide his demeanor from her, and Erron didn't care that she took saw how defensively paranoid he had become.

The bounty hunter could tell she wanted to ask, but decided against it seeing that he was not in the mood for talking. Black wasn't sure he would have answered her anyway even if she did ask.

That would mean that he was admitting out loud that he had allowed himself to be stalked.

That didn't unnerve him as much as mind coming up blank with why he was...


	26. Chapter 26

** Chapter 26   
** **Once Upon A Time in The West  
Part 8** **  
** _**The Crooked Man** _

* * *

As expected, Erron Black opened the door to the tavern and was greeted by both attentive and suspicious eyes. The fellow patrons of the small, shabby cantina, stared at him as acrid as the ambiance of the place was, and waited with tense anticipation; some even looked around, wondering if one of them were the reason why he was here. The gunslinger, his eyes as cold and harsh as arctic winds, closed the worn wooden door with a small push of his hand and then sauntered towards the bar.

Seeing that the Kahn's bounty hunter was not here to drag any of them away, they settled back into their seats and resumed their conversations. Still, despite that Erron couldn't see them, he could feel their eyes at the back of his head; anxiously dreading that he would suddenly drop his ruse and grab his unsuspecting victim.

The bartender, an older man with an always present pragmatic expression, walked his way as Black slid onto the stool. He was the only one accompanied at the bar except for the brunette woman at the other end that did her best not to look his way.

Erron, to avoid Norah any discomfort, suggested that she should enter the bar first. Despite being the only woman in the bar, the other 6 men, 2 to each table, accompanying the tables scattered around the musky den, ignored her. If they had wondered why she had entered, it was erased the moment his presence darkened the door. If they had walked in together, only then would they both of had share the awkward air and scrutinizing eyes. Norah understood that as well before they reached the tavern and seemed more than relieved when he had made the request.

The bartender, shorter than the gunslinger sitting on the chair, raised one of his thin gray eyebrows her direction but didn't comment before he turned back to him. It was obvious he wanted to say something. Even if the lithe Outworld man didn't have all the pieces he still had enough to see something of a picture. The receptive man knew the Kahn's guard after all. Erron hadn't lied to Norah when he told her he was familiar with the place and knew something was off the moment she sat at the bar.

Women weren't allowed; it was a rule of his establishment but mostly just personal rather than societal. Kuk'uq, the proprietor and bartender, was about to say something to her until he had walked in and distracted him. It wasn't until he Erron threw him a cautionary look did he understand that Norah was to be left alone. However, it didn't mean he was happy allowing her to break his one rule because of Emperor's bodyguard.

"I still don't have any of what you want," Kuk'uq told him placidly as he walked his direction. His raspy voice sounding more aggravated than usual. "And I would have thought that your absence would have meant that you understood I won't in the future."

The corner of Black's mouth tugged sneeringly at him behind the mask. Unbeknownst to former female delivery person seated nearby, Erron used to get his booze from Kuk'uq. The owner had stopped smuggling them in after Kotal Kahn thought it best to embargo any goods from Earthrealm after the reappearance of Shinnok. The marksman hadn't been happy about it and didn't return until now; there was nothing Black wanted here besides the whiskey, which he had to admit was better than what Norah had provided.

Even with the lull of his appearance at his place for almost a year now, it seemed that Kuk'uq still harbored unhappy feelings about their previous arrangement. Unlike Norah though, he didn't feel guilty about it nor cared that he hated him.

"Whatever doesn't taste like shit," the marksman told him, placing a small donation of coins on the wood.

A grimace rolled briefly across his diamond-shaped face before his brown eyes shifted slightly to the cupbearer and then back to him. "And her?"

"Ask _her_ ," Black instructed with an indifferent shrug.

"Does she even have money?" Kuk'uq asked sourly.

Erron stared pointedly at him as he growled, his patience already dissipated: "Just get her what she wants."

Kuk'uq fist tightened across the old, blotched surface of the hickory colored bar but didn't reply. The man knew there was no point in arguing. Erron was still a paying customer no matter who was sitting at the bar or whatever history there was between the two of them.

Black allowed himself to relax and laid his arms on the bar, one on top of the other. He passed the time waiting for his beverage by rhythmically tapping a finger against the point of his opposite elbow, bitterly lost in his thoughts. Unfortunately, Kuk'uq hadn't been enough to distract him from the issue he wanted eradicated and had followed him to the bar. The same issue ever since they had passed the wedding reception.

This blue-eyed entity, the phantasm, demon… whatever it was, plagued his already turbulent thoughts. The enigma filed down at his patience little by little, and he was almost tempted to return to the reception to speak with it. The mercenary knew how pointless it was, though.

Despite the small time interacting with the being, the very fact that it could possess and jump from body to body with ease already spoke loudly to him. It would come to him when _it_ felt ready to. It made him feel cowardly for admitting it, but the bounty hunter felt unnerved by that fact. It was the lack of control, simple as that, and it made him feel as if that specter had its ghostly hands around the handles of his revolvers without him even knowing it.

The cowboy felt eyes on him and raised an eyebrow as he glanced at Norah's direction. She stared attentively at him, waiting for his marble, cold façade to break and reveal what was really bothering him. He wouldn't admit it even if she did ask not to be rude, but because it simply didn't concern her.

Or perhaps it did.

After all, the thing didn't show itself to him until he was forced to attend _her_ trial.

Were the two connected?

Black felt that idea was preposterous. Just because it showed itself to him at the trial, didn't mean that it was not watching him beforehand. Whatever it was, as playful as it seemed, was meticulous with its timing and seemed to single him out. If it did involve her, then wouldn't it have shown itself to her as well when the both of them passed by the cantina.

He sighed exasperatedly through his nose as he eyed the area, looking at each individual seated before facing his eyes forward again.

Whatever it was, it wanted _his_ attention.

Well, it got it.

Erron hadn't heard Kuk'uq return until he sat a bottle of Outworld wine on the counter. From previous encounters, Black noticed that the man didn't bother to leave a glass for him, and turned to talk to Norah.

The mercenary eavesdropped as he unclasped his mask and uncorked the emerald green bottle. To his surprise, the Outworld man wasn't as rude as he predicted, but Erron suspected it had something to do with him sitting close-by. The Outworlder's tone was straightforward as he asked what she wanted and Norah modestly requested for the simplest food to make. The bartender asked if she wanted soup, one that was already sitting in a pot the back. As starving as she was, she rejected it firmly and said 'anything else, please.'

As odd as he found that, Erron ignored it and pressed his lips to the bottle.

A faint groan of disgust left him as he lowered the bottle back to the surface of the bar. By the taste of the liquor alone, he knew it was going to be a long, boring time until they would have to make their way back to the palace. Erron was certain he could get a buzz but had no desire to endure the taste of Outworld rice wine.

Unfortunately, without the alcohol to drown them out, caused his thoughts to return to the cantina. With a slight twinge of paranoia, he looked over his shoulder towards the other tables.

He felt like a rabbit surrounded by oblivious coyotes; there was no threat yet, but that could change in an instant. At least the demon's tell was the azure eyes; too bright for any normal person that it almost made them look luminescent. As he inspected every male in the area, looking at their iris' specifically, Black did his best to try and dust off what he remembered about Outworld mythology.

Despite spectral constructs, Meso-American-esque emperors, and four-armed bipeds, when it came to understanding Outworld and its peculiarities, he knew nothing else until he encountered it. There were simply too many creatures, sorcerers, and other abnormalities to keep track of and record. Even if someone had made a log of every magical being, he doubted anyone would ever be able to complete it before there was a new entry. There were some still out there, hidden in the shadows that preferred it. The gunslinger imagined that his poltergeist had gotten tired of skulking in the dark and he just happened to be the first thing that came across his path to haunt.

Erron didn't hear Norah approach until she moved to a stool closer to him. There were still a few islands of chairs between them, but now they were within distance to have a private conversation without anyone else to hear it. Still, her movement closer to him caused the men to lift their eyes to her back and narrow them in confusion; wondering why she dared. Some came to lewd conclusions and scoffed before turning back to their drinks. The baker kept her eyes forward as he turned his own to the front and ignored the audience behind them.

"What is it?" she demanded firmly. Her green eyes fixed on the bottles on the shelves behind the bar as if waiting for each of them to relate some distressing news. But the look was more reserved for the mercenary, and they both knew it.

He said nothing and raised the bottle to his mouth for another unappetizing sip. The baker's eyes flashed to him when he purposely ignored her, and narrowed as he continued as if her presence was completely nonexistent. Seeing that she wouldn't receive and answer, Norah raised herself from the stool and returned to the one she had been seated on previously.

Black could still feel her ire, skeptical gaze on him, but as soon as her food arrived in front of her, she left him be. He didn't want to distract her from what she came here to do, especially when it didn't involve her anyway, and picked himself from his seat and headed for the door when she began to pry apart the bread and devour it. His hand was on the door, grasping the handle with his free hand when he paused and looked over his shoulder.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed her face pull into a strained complexion. Stopping mid-chew, she raised a hand and placed it against her forehead as if stabbed by a sudden headache. Ignoring it, but obvious that it was still affecting her, dropped her bread and moved to the cooked mushrooms on her plate.

Black brushed it off and escaped out of the tavern to lean against the outside of the wooden building. Adjacent to the door frame, and between the half-cracked open window, candlelight streaked out and eclipsed him in light while the other half of his body was shadowed by the desert night. Pain throbbed over his back when he did and he did his best to ignore the lacerations still healing. With nothing else to do but wait, Erron turned to the bottle in his hand and began his task of emptying it. He did buy it after all, and despite the taste, had nothing else to do to pass the time. Bending his leg, he placed the flat of his boot against the wall, and switched between watching the pedestrians that passed by and the stars reveal themselves from passing clouds.

Every passerby eyed him with the same suspicion he gave him, and after a while, the bottle became merely a ploy to look unassuming as malevolent thoughts ventured back. Paranoid needles pricked over the skin of his arms as he waited like bait on a hook outside. Even inside the bar, he felt like prey, but now that he was out in the open, he felt even more unsettled. With each Outworlder that passed by, either traveling back to their homes for the night or meandering away from them for a night elsewhere, Black felt that the possibilities were endless for the creature to appear; it could sneak up on him in anyone of the potential puppets.

Maybe it was all just a game, he thought bitterly to himself. _He_ could have very well been the puppet. Black scowled at the prospect and took another swig, this time lingering the bottle longer on his lips. The wine had no burn to it and even halfway through the bottle already, felt only the slightest buzz dull out the ache on his afflicted back. The gunslinger ironically considered that for the best; he would need his wits when it did show even if he wanted nothing more than to drown his anger.

He didn't appreciate being the joke to some childish and supernatural game— if that was all it was. If not, then he wished to learn about the nefarious details about its plan already.

Another hour ticked by, and as the night quieted with less and less people, Black littered the empty bottle to the sand and crossed his arms over his chest. Kuk'uq hadn't cared when he ventured outside to collect money from him for Norah's meal, and wordlessly retreated inside.

Leaning against the wall of the cantina, he sighed in irritation through his nostrils. What was taking her so damn long to eat? Erron had thought about going back inside but disregarded it after a while.

There was no rush, even with the morning creeping on them soon, and he sincerely doubted she was in any hurry to see her new husband. Black could picture her at the bar, probably waiting for her to fetch her and dreading the moment he did. With that in mind, he would wait for her to come to out when _she_ was ready. After all, even if he faced rebuke from Kotal, it was still nothing in comparison to what awaited her.

To his surprise, the door opened, and Norah walked out to join him and even if it took only a few seconds, the marksman could already see that something was wrong.

Her body language changed. No longer did she walk as if she was heading to a guillotine. On the contrary, her imperious posture was cool and relaxed she came to stand next to him; leaning against the wall as if to mock him.

With his nerves bristled in alarm, he immediately peeled himself from the wall to stand in front of her. Her eyes were fixed down at the empty wine bottle, concealing them from sight, as she tapped the glass gently with her foot.

The baker clicked her tongue as if reprimanding a naughty child and shook her head. "Not at all promising— especially for an Emperor's warrior."

The gunman's hand lashed out, grabbed her by the chin and lifted it with enraged fingers— his anger causing him to forget momentarily who it was the entity was possessing. As predicted, Erron was greeted with a pair of cyan colored eyes that stared at him with indifference at his action. Seeing that he might be hurting Norah's face than the specter as he had wished, his strong digits loosened but still kept a firm grip to hold her in place.

"What do you want?" Black growled. "Spit it out already."

It raised Norah's eyebrow at him in surprise. "I do not have to. And firstly, I think it would be better manners if introduced myself."

Inadvertently, he felt his hand tighten across Norah's skin with enough pressure to bruise. "You already have _introduced_ yourself."

The blue eyes of the phantom gleamed in amused bewilderment at him as they glanced from his hand and then back to his ruthless cobalt stare. "I am not sure you are aware, but I cannot feel _anything_ that you are doing while I am another's body. So, it is pointless to try and hurt me."

Black chewed the inside of his cheek, his glare still hard on the possessed baker. It was so odd hearing Norah's tone reciprocated to him in an alien mannerism, even if the voice itself was not manipulated in any other fashion. It still felt like night and day; the being was aggravatingly priggish, yet blasé. The charlatan's eyes glanced down at his crushing fingers and then back to him with an impartial expression.

"Norah on the other hand _will_ feel where your fingers touched," it told him, warning him matter-of-factly. Only then did Erron relent his iron grip, but moved his fist to grapple the shoulder of the woman's blue dress to keep it pressed against the wall.

As before, the poltergeist seemed to regard the action as meaningless as dust settling on the baker's clothes. Perhaps he found its reaction annoying because it wasn't _its_ clothes — or body — to begin with.

"Get out of her," the Kahn's guard ordered.

"I am not hurting her," it replied simply. "I am merely borrowing. As I did with the others."

"What do you want, then? I ain't askin' a third time." the fabric in his enclosed hand balled and twisted angrily to demonstrate his point.

"My name is Chaeomi."

"I didn't ask for your goddamn name," He blinked his eyes at the demon. "And what kind of name is that?"

"It is _my_ name," Norah's face curved into a brief, entertained smile before frowning at him. "And to answer your other question: I have something you want. I also have something you _need_. Most importantly, though, I require your services."

"It's a little late in the night for riddles," Black pointed out with a grumble.

"I apologize. I forgot that you are man who prefers bluntness over polite conversations," Chaeomi pointed out, her nonchalant expressing mirroring her tone.

The bounty hunter ignored the remark and scoffed. "You don't have anything I want, and I'm not for free, no matter how much you think botherin' me is gonna to get you what you want."

The blue eyes sparkled like blue topaz the same moment a Cheshire smile pulled at the corners of Norah's lips. "I have Prince Rain."

Erron caught his expression from falling into a dour one at the mention of the Edenian's name and quickly shifted it into one of pure professional interest. The creature wearing the baker's skin still seemed to see straight through his shield and could tell that his commitment to capturing Rain was more vindictive than it was a requirement of his vocation.

How did this thing know he was looking for Rain? With that question on his mind, allowed repulsive possibilities to spring into his thoughts. How long had this _thing_ been following him? Was it there in the jungle with him, amongst the other dangers that lurked? Was it in the throne room with him when Kotal gave the order. Or had it been with him since Rain had snapped Bert's neck in his room? The assumption made him feel violated as much as it did agitate him, and it only fueled him with more anger. Why him? Why did it care about Erron's assignment to apprehend Rain? Why did it care that he wanted to see the smug, Edenian bastard locked up? What was Erron to this being?

"Would you like to see him _burn_?" Chaeomi grinned, her seductive words slithering along his skin like the sharp end of a knife.

The muscles in Black's jaw tightened as he ground his teeth in irritation. The promise was enticing, but he knew that it would come with obligations — obligations that he would not submit to no matter what it offered. He refused to be snake-oiled into a deal with something that would not even show its true face to him.

"I don't need your help to see that happen," he stubbornly protested. The marksman released Norah's clothes with a small shove. "So, you have nothin' I want."

His counter didn't seem to vex the possessed cupbearer and retorted back smoothly: "I have no doubt you could find him in time. You are a capable man. How long would that be though? Years? I can give you days. You will not find him as easily without _me_."

"Even if I do believe you, I have no guarantee that you are tellin' the truth," the mercenary argued, shaking his head lightly.

"I have followed you from the jungle, and I have seen into your thoughts. You and I both know that my word is better than any information— or lack thereof— that you have presently."

Well, at least that answered if it had followed him from the Kuatan Jungle. It still offered little comfort finding out that it had been inside his head without him even knowing. Erron's knuckles turned white as he balled one of his hands into a furious fist. If it could trespass into his thoughts, and acquire knowledge without him even realizing, what else had it done? Had he been manipulated too while he was tasked to find Rain?

It seemed to understand the source of Black's rancor and lifted Norah's hand to place against his cheek. "I did nothing, I assure you. There was no reason to. I merely attached myself to you and followed you out of the jungle."

Erron grabbed the baker's wrist and pulled it away from his skin."Like a common parasite," he seethed, tossing Norah's hand away.

"Call me what you wish," Chaeomi said, sounding somewhat dejected, "But I am not your enemy. I am merely a messenger hoping that you will agree to solve _both_ of our problems."

"And what problem is that?" the bounty hunter interrupted.

Norah's eyebrows slanted into a hateful demeanor. "Prince Rain has forced me to leave my own village and has turned my people against me. He rules with fear, and anyone that has protested has met death. He has already slaughtered many, and I cannot bear to see any more of my people hurt."

"And you need me to do your dirty work," Black interjected sourly.

"I need you to do your _job_ ," Chaeomi scowled back. "And besides the information I provide, I think you will find my form of compensation more than generous."

The cowboy crossed his arms over his chest and raised a skeptical eyebrow. "And why is that?"

"It is quite clear that you do not trust me, and perhaps that was my mistake. You haven't survived in Outworld as long as you have by being gullible, and how do you Earthrealmers say this? Oh yes, 'when something is too good to be true, it usually is'. So, I will have to prove to you that I will keep my word."

A small _'hmpf'_ left his mouth. "And how do you think you'll go about accomplishin' that?"

"By giving you what you _need_ first."

"What is it you think I need, then?" the doubtful gunslinger scoffed.

The phantasm smiled sardonically and answered: "Peace of mind."

"My mind's at peace," Black asserted sarcastically.

"We both know that is not true," Chaeomi chuckled lightly and as sly as a fox, tilted Norah's head at him. "And I do not have to read your mind, or hers, to know what it is you _both_ need."

Even without having to voice it, Erron knew that it was talking about Hulin. Black's silence condemned him, he knew, but he was at a loss for words; he couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't sound like a weak debate. Simply because it was the truth, not only for himself, but surely for Norah as well.

Again, he couldn't help but feel defiled and manipulated by not only its observant behavior, but the fact that it knew it was none of its business and was self-aware that its ploy was dirty leverage to use against him.

"I know that you think he will kill her the moment she takes out the knife, and even if she chooses _not_ to kill him, he certainly will to her, eventually," Chaeomi taunted candidly. "Despite your intentions to give her the knife as noble as they are, you know it will be fruitless— just as fruitless as your attempts to get rid of what dark memory it reminds _you_ of."

The unnerved gunman popped the bone in his finger with his thumb, the sound an audible crescendo to his evaporating patience.

Norah began to walk around him, her possessed body making her circle him like a vulture looking down at a limping animal. He didn't react, choosing to remain as still and unmovable as a heavy boulder even when he felt Norah's fingertips land on top of his shoulders. They cradled each side gently, but her touch still burned his whipped back. As much as he hated the uncomfortable gesture, acted as if her hands were undetectable. However, he did reprimand himself for allowing it to do that when she leaned forward and whispered in his ear: "…And they _all_ lived together in a little, _crooked_ house."

His lip twitched in anger as he walked forward, letting the distance he created remove her hands from his back. As soft as curtains, Erron felt Norah's hands slide from him and fall away. But still he could feel those damned meddlesome eyes at the back of his head, and as much as he hated to admit it, felt the hair at the back of his neck stand.

"You were but a child back then, you could not have known what your actions would lead to, what they would inspire," Chaeomi told him, like a parent trying to console a grieving child. It did not last long, and her tone harshened. "But you are _much_ older now. I know you mean well, but you know that you can do more for her. You do not have to be further _inspiration_."

"I know what you are doin'," the Kahn's guard fumed. He wasn't an idiot. The thing was pulling at his strings to see which persuasive tactic would finally make him snap.

First, it had been his job, then his hatred of Rain and now it was using his guilt. And although he considered the latter gimmick as nothing but blackmail meant to test the limits of his remorse, had to admit that it was working.

It was true that the situation with Norah did remind him of Atchison, although the two incidents were mere ripples in comparison rather than actual mirror images of each other.

One thing was for certain.

They both involved crooked men.

* * *

**Atchison, Kansas  
1868**

At the behest of Dr. Finney and weight his philosophical motto sinking his conscious every time he tried to refuse, it did not take long for Aaron to find the girl with the pink ribbon.

But he was not the first.

Perhaps it was the moonless night and the dead lanterns that had been a catalyst. Or perhaps it was the tired horses and equally drained driver that just could not react in time, but Abraham did not see the little girl run from the alley until the two lead horses came to a screeching halt and neighed in distress. Like an accordion, each of the dark colored horses buckled into each other until the straps stopped them. Some reared on their hind legs as much as their restraints would allow, but each one of them bellowed loudly.

Aaron, who had kept his distance from the stagecoach station and ducked back into the alley when he saw Abraham's team, watched in wide-eyed horror as the little girl ran into the massive thigh of the left leader. When the orphan saw the girl disappear into the murky dirt, a large cloud of hazelnut dust blotting out the scene, he for sure thought that she had been pulled under their hooves.

He could see Abraham's black hat casting a shadow and cut through the dusty veil as he leapt off the driver's box of the coach. Zachariah was with him, and although he was concerned, was nowhere close to the same level of dreadful trepidation that was written all over the driver's face.

As the dust began to settle and drift away from the Butterfield Stagecoach station, the young boy kneeled to look under the horse's legs to see what was going on.

The little girl, her once pristine white dress and face unmarked with a single speck of dirt, was covered in walnut colored soil. She laid as still as a corpse and Aaron felt an uncomfortable lump grow in his throat at the sight. He didn't even know why he was upset, the boy had only met her once, but grew increasingly anxious when he watched Abraham try and wake her up with no avail.

The blonde-haired boy could make out the coach driver's panicked voice. Begging her to open her eyes, and each of his distressed requests was answered with more silence from the child.

From the darkness, Aaron gripped the edge of the wood and felt his fingernails dig into the splintered surface of the building. Only allowing half of his face and body into the street, he spied on the men as Zachariah went to control the spooked horses.

Suddenly, Abraham knelt and quickly gathered the girl in his arms. Carrying her unconscious body in a bridal's carry, the 7-year-old watched as Abraham ran as fast as he could in the direction of the alley he was standing in.

Aaron, who had been kneeling, stood back to his feet and began to take a step back. The boy begged his feet to spring alive so he could take off into a run and escape the man coming towards him. He feared as if Abraham might reprimand him again, yell and curse at him, disregarding the girl in his arms to take the moment to remind Aaron how much he truly hated him.

However, Abraham never entered the alley he was in and took off into the night— heading in the same direction of Dr. Finney's tent.

It wasn't what alarmed Aaron, though.

At the last moment, until Abraham disappeared behind the buildings and further into the empty street, Aaron caught a glimpse of his black-brimmed hat flying off his head, and tears running down the man's face.

Abraham, who had never forsaken his hat until now, didn't even blink as it lifted from his head and hit the ground behind him; Aaron was certain he would have trampled it under his own boot if it had been in his path. The man was that concerned about what he had done. Not that the boy blamed him, Aaron would have been scared if he had run over a little girl with his horses.

There was a small part of him that wanted to follow his former caretaker, only to see how the girl was. Was she dead? Was she still alive? His curiosity and concern nagged at him to go after them, despite that it was Black that was carrying her to find her help.

The boy wondered somewhat selfishly, however, if he could take off now that Dr. Finney had found the little girl. The older man didn't need the boy anymore, and his broken arm was healing in a sling, so he didn't need the doctor anymore.

_"Do good deeds and endure… I know you are the coach boy… Repentance can be erased by completing good deeds."_

The doctor's words rang through his head like church bells of a gothic cathedral, and he understood that he simply couldn't do that, as much as he wanted to go on his own. Aaron especially didn't want to confront the man that reminded him that he was either. Besides, the homeless boy had to make sure that the girl got to a doctor's tent, even if it turned out it was not Finney's. He had the waver that question from his conscious, or it would forever eat at him.

Aaron waited until Zachariah and the horses were out of sight, walking them to the livery to undress their harnesses and settle them in for the night. As soon as the shotgun messenger was gone, was when the boy embarked from his temporary sanctuary in the dark alley. As if alone in the desert, with nothing but the sounds of his shoes crunching the rocks beneath him as his own solitary music, the orphan ventured timidly into the open.

Now that he was exposed in the street, he suddenly had second thoughts about trying to find the doctor and the driver. Maybe it would be best, for everyone, that he just sunk into the dirt and erased himself from existence. Abraham didn't want him; he had made that blatantly clear the moment his bottle hit the ground, and the doctor was just using him. He still had no one.

The boy's eyebrows lowered and pressed into a scornful glare. The hat, tilted on its side like a toy top, only caused the angry coals in his stomach to grow hotter when he thought about its owner. But for some reason, he couldn't keep that fire alive inside him when he thought of Abraham running with that girl. The 7-year-old had never seen him passionate about many things, and had always seen the older man as stern and rational. There was not much that rattled him. Seeing that he had almost killed a girl—a girl that wasn't even kin— confused him.

Also, and he wondered if he imagined it, but he had never once seen Abraham shed a tear. There had been only one instance where he had, but even then, it had proven to be questionable if it was sincere.

When he threw the bottle at him.

Aaron looked down at the stagecoach driver's forgotten headpiece and was torn between wanting to kick it and picking it up to return it to him. In truth, Abraham didn't deserve either. Aaron, after all, seemed like nothing to him; he should treat Abraham and his things the same. Taking his anger out on the hat was pointless, and all it would do in the end was reaffirm that Aaron was still bothered by what Abraham did to him that night. The boy had tried to make amends, and the man had pushed his attempts aside despite how false Aaron had thought it felt. There was still nothing left to salvage and it was best to let it be forgotten.

The boy did eventually pick up the hat from the ground, unsure of what else to do now, and held it in his small hand by the brim. Sighing despondently, the child looked once again in the direction the dark-haired man had fled with the injured girl. A twinge of jealousy erupted within him, irrational but potent. Why did Abraham care more about her than him?

Why did he even care if Abraham did?

"The hour is late young man," called a male voice to him. "Perhaps you should head indoors."

The orphan turned towards the source of the voice and found the unwelcomed visitor to his solidarity standing much too close for comfort. Even if the lithe, old man was what most would come to look at as unassuming, there was something odd about him that Aaron just couldn't place, but discovered it instantly.

His hair was pulled back so tightly that the 7-year old was certain they were tearing from his scalp with every second that passed. Tight in the ponytail, the thin strands, as white as strings on a violin's bow, reached the middle of his back. The older man, who Aaron would have to guess was in his 50's, bent over towards him as if he had an unseen tumor on his back that weighed his shoulders down. His eyes twinkled at him like gray stones under a clear river's surface and seemed to smile at him with the same semblance as the grin that pulled across his face. The old man was also dressed quite refined for the small town of Atchison, and Aaron found it particularly curious. It was _too_ refined.

He seemed dressed in his Sunday best, which was strange for a simple Tuesday. His gravel gray double-breasted vest and frock coat hung on him like a garden snake stealing the skin of rattler to camouflage itself as something more outstanding and respected. The senior man was too neat, too clean-shaven and his clothes were too polished. It was as if he bought them just now. The derby hat, the same color of his attire, was much more worn and speckled with dirt than the rest of his garments and it was the only clue that Aaron needed to know that his occupation was not one of a rich businessman even if he masqueraded as it.

Perhaps it was the deception that made Aaron nervous because the rest of his appearance gave off the air of a benevolent relative. As if he was the grandfather that Aaron had never met. The smooth skin of his face, which was devoid of scars or other abnormalities, clung the architectural structure of the bones underneath and made him look more skeletal and frail. Besides the hunched posture and the slimness of his body, he seemed to be in adequate shape for someone his age.

In the back of the lonely boy's mind, he had the disturbing inclination that the man before him was Mr. Bauchau—the little girl's guardian— and even more disturbing was he was alone with him. Aaron didn't need the gray man to introduce himself to the boy; he just knew it had to be him. What else would she be running from?

The girl with the ribbon had obviously been terrified of him, whatever it was that he done to her, and had sent her out to find him. The entire thing made his stomach worm, and finally meeting him, only amplified the feeling. He was struck dumb on what he should do, his entire body frozen as the man gleamed down at him like a cat with a cornered mouse.

Mr. Bauchau eyes landed Abraham's hat and gingerly reached with outstretched fingers. "That is quite a fine hat you have there," he acknowledged with a friendly tone. "May I?"

Unintentionally, the orphan's fingers gripped Abraham's hat tighter as the elderly man pinched the brim between his thumb and finger and pulled it out the 7-year-olds grasp gently. Aaron felt himself suck in a breath as he did. Briefly, the older man inspected it and then smiled as he placed Abraham's hat on Aaron's head. The black hat immediately fell forward over his eyes and he heard Bauchau chuckle at him. Air escaped out his mouth as hot as steam from a train engine and used his injured hand to bat the brim of the hat up with the back of his small hand.

"A tad too big for you," Bauchau commented. Propping his elbow his elbow in the palm of his hand and stroking his chin, contemplating an idea for a moment, he finally said: "I have something that might help you fit into it better. Something you can stuff with."

"It ain't my hat," Aaron snapped.

"Oh… then whose hat is it, young man?"

The boy narrowed his eyes. "What's it to you?"

"Well, if it is not your hat, perhaps you should return it to its _owner_ ," the gray man suggested, a pointed look cast down at the hat on the orphan's head.

The blonde-haired boy blinked nervously at him. The last thing he wanted to do was see Abraham now, but even more so was to continue to be in his presence. Conflicted on which option would garner less discomfort, he stood there before the man in silence. Aaron began to hope that perhaps he was wrong that the man was the little girl's guardian. Maybe he was just jumping to conclusions. Aaron could have been satisfied with that idea, and allowed it to calm his nerves for a moment, until the man said something that sent shivers down his spine.

"Or would you prefer to keep it from the Butterfield driver instead?" Bending down to one knee, so his teasing gray eyes were level with his, he winked and promised: "I won't tell a soul. I'll be as quiet as the grave."

The boy felt himself taking a step back. "How do you know it's his?"

"Because I know _you_ , young man," the old man clarified. "Your story is an interesting one. The father you shot and the other man pretending to be yours to try and protect you from both the noose and evil itself. A funny little story, indeed."

Aaron stared in confusion at him and flinched when his weathered hand came to clasp the top of his shoulder. The small weight of it, despite that the old man was trying to be gentle, caused pain to flare throughout his broken arm and made the boy wince slightly. If the old man knew that he was hurting him, didn't seem to acknowledge or care.

"You remind me of myself from long ago," he reminisced to the youngster. "An orphan much like you who has had so much pain inflicted upon him. I know you have been told to feel remorse for your actions. I say, do not. The driver can never understand this because he does not know how you feel."

"And you do?" Aaron challenged.

"I simply despise those trying to impose their morals on others," the man replied with a frown. "Especially when they can never understand the person's position themselves. Do you feel what you did was wrong?"

Aaron considered his words for a moment. The implications of what they were and what would happen if the boy sincerely admitted that he thought his Pa had it coming; what kind of monster it would paint him as. Most would have agreed with him if they had known the whole story, hell even Abraham did even if his plan didn't involve Aaron pulling the trigger.

Regardless if the more Christian folk didn't agree with the methods, they would have had to say he deserved it as well, even if they would never voice it. Aaron didn't run to church for forgiveness, and never would so their opinions were meaningless to him, anyway. The boy had always known he wasn't welcomed and never bothered to understand what God would have wanted for him. He didn't think God liked him very much anyway.

So, Aaron couldn't say what he did was wrong, and perhaps the old man knew that as well before he even asked. With that in mind, suddenly he felt even more trapped being near him, and the question had simply been the key turning in the lock.

"It was not," Bauchau affirmed with a small shake of his head. "And it is not right for others to make you feel that way."

"Abraham never did," Aaron argued. Technically it was only half a lie. Abraham certainly hadn't been happy about what he did, but knew that it was irreversible. Frankly, the man blamed himself more than he blamed the child, and it was the only time Aaron could recall that he had someone that did not look at him as a monster. Abraham saw himself as the monster for allowing it to happen. Still, Aaron hoped what he said was enough for the man to deter the subject. It did not work.

"And yet, abandoned you," the old man pointed out, raising a perceptive eyebrow at him. "Sallie has told me that you have been alone for some time. Wandering the streets like a pup he cast aside. Alone all this time. Does not sound like a father to me."

The homeless child felt sadness swell in his chest as he recalled the sound of the glass bottle hitting the dirt at his feet. It wasn't the only thing he had done. He had given Aaron money, too much money, and had genuinely wished for the boy he found his way in the world under the idea that Aaron didn't want to be around him.

_"After all the mistakes I've made, the decision to not trust you with the truth was my biggest one. "I was a coward. Afraid I couldn't be anything but be a disappointment. I'm not a good man, but I wanted to at least try with you. I don't reckon I'll ever get the chance to now. Hell, maybe this all just proves I never deserved to get the chance. I knew you could pull the trigger, never doubted it, but I was afraid gettin' you involved might make you turn out like me in some way. I was wrong. Your different boy— stronger than either of us"_

Abraham had told him that while visiting him in the cell, and he hadn't forgotten the sincerity of them.

Aaron could still hear the bottle shatter at his feet that night…

_"I wish it was_ _your_ _name that could be forgotten…"_

The sound felt more muted now as he thought more on the discussion behind the bars.

_"I care about you, son. Not just because of your mother, either. You've grown on me no matter how much you hate me."_

Perhaps, Aaron had been wrong all along about the bottle. He didn't throw it at him because he hated him, but because he hated himself. Maybe… Abraham had been angry with himself that he let the boy go from his life.

_"I wish it was_ _**your** _ _name that could be forgotten…"_

He had only been drinking that night, because of Aaron… and how empty he felt now that the boy wasn't around.

"He didn't abandon me," Aaron retorted meekly in a whisper, his eyes on the dirt.

Aaron had abandoned _him_.

Bauchau ignored him. "I sent her to offer an invitation. I have taken in many young orphan boys, and sometimes girls, discarded on the train. Sallie is one of them. It would please me if you would think about staying with us. Or at least entertaining the idea? You do not have to decide now if you wish."

Aaron felt the man's hand squeeze his shoulder; minuscule but it was enough to feel. The gray suited man nodded his head over his shoulder, indicating to the direction behind him. "My house is not far. You can accompany me if you wish, inspect if it is a place you would like to stay and then make your decision later. It simply would not hurt to take a peak, would it? You must be hungry and must have had quite a day."

The child stared warily at him, befuddled by his offer. Not only was it strange to have it suggested to him so openly, but at the same time, felt the man start to massage his shoulder with his fingers absently. Although he was being tender, the digits immediately felt like talons sinking into his flesh, trying to secure him, and he wanted nothing more than to wiggle away from them. He didn't know this man, nor wished to, and certainly had no desire to see anything in his house.

If Sallie, the little girl, didn't want to be there, why would he? Despite that the man was being cordial with him, even genteel, something still felt unquestionably wrong. It was all too much; too brazen for a first meeting.

Sensing his discouragement, the hand clamped down harder— this time digging his nails into the fabric of his coat. As if it could perceive the danger, the small knife in his pocket announced itself, reminding him that it was near if he needed it. Aaron just wished that it wasn't in the jacket pocket that his bandaged arm was covering.

"I should give Abraham his hat back," the boy suggested, trying to find a safe solution to dismay him. An understandable one that he would believe.

It didn't seem to work, and the elder clicked his tongue at him. "Why? You can leave it in the street. I am sure he will retrace his steps to find it."

Aaron tugged at his shoulder, trying to slip the man's hand away. "I wanna give it to him _myself_."

"You can do so _after_ you have had something to eat," argued Bauchau. "I do not know about you, but I am quite famished myself."

"I ain't hungry," Aaron shot back quickly, trying to take another step back. The man's slender hands stopped him, and Aaron grimaced as it applied more pressure to his already aching arm.

His refusal seemed to annoy the man, more than it should have, and it made Aaron gulp nervously. Most people would have released him, understanding that he did not want to go with them and forget about the whole thing entirely. Bauchau was the opposite, and his persistence was not only unwanted, but not normal.

"You must be hungry," the gray dressed man insisted, his phony, kind disposition giving way to make room for the sincere scowl. "And it is just a _hat_."

"You're hurting me," Aaron confessed honestly, letting out a small whimper when he refused to let go.

Something occurred to the boy as the man gripped him that made his stomach flip with terror.

They were alone.

There was nobody in the street, the windows were dark as people slept in their beds, and besides Zachariah who was still tending to the horses, there was nobody nearby that could help.

Perhaps that was why Aaron felt more afraid by the fact than the old man obviously did.

Something darkened in his gray eyes, and no longer did they bother to hold their polite zeal. They were menacing, darker and conveyed something mysteriously barbaric and feral. It was as if he had the devil inside him, and now that Aaron could see under his sheep's clothing, allowed himself to disrobe the masquerade.

Quickly he moved his hand from his shoulder to latch on to his broken forearm. Merely touching the swollen limb would have brought tears to his eyes, but the uncaring iron manacle that squeezed like a boa constrictor made him whine with agony and terror. Climbing back to his feet with the child in tow, the frightening gentleman marched with him; dragging him with as much care he would give to a sack of flour.

Tears pricked the corner of Aaron's eyes as his feet stumbled forward along the dirt, in the mercy of the man's unrelenting grip and the afflicted arm. Abraham's hat bounced back and forth, switching from blinding him for a moment before falling backwards. It inadvertently scared him, and for a moment, he feared about losing the hat until his screaming arm halted him back to what was happening. The pain he felt was tremendously brutal; as if somebody was pulling his bones from his skin and he caught himself crying in pain. It sounded pitiful, and it flared the already expired temper in the old man who looked behind him to glower distastefully at Aaron.

"Be quiet! Or I will make it more painful for you!" he ordered, pulling him forward and sending him spiraling to the dirt ahead of him. From the movement alone, it was enough to case his arm to fly loose from the sling. Aaron hit the rocky soil with a yelp, laying face first. More upset tears fell from him and darkened the dirt in small puddles beneath him. For an old man, he was much stronger than he looked.

Above him, like hearing a demon hovering over his bed, listened as the gray man shuddered out deep exhalations through his mouth in an unnerving manner. At first, he thought that merely throwing him had exerted the man, but as he flipped over on his back, his blue eyes widened at a grotesque sight.

Living in a whorehouse, even at a young age, Aaron had come to understand what it meant when a male bulged from his trousers. Even back then, he always hated seeing it. It disgusted him, but for the doves, it meant business, and he knew what that _business_ involved.

There was something undoubtedly more abhorrent about Bauchau's though, and Aaron could only imagine it had to do with the fact that there were no prostitutes around to cause that reaction. So why was he displaying it? It sent alarm fluttering over his skin, pricking him with dread.

Licking his dry lips, the old man walked over to him, preparing to reach for him. Moving faster than the boy himself could have ever thought he could, panic guiding him to reach across his torso and reach in his pocket, he pulled out the knife. Holding it in front of him, keeping his attacker at bay for now, Aaron scuttled away by using his bent legs to propel him.

Bauchau simply scoffed at him. "Think wisely, son. I am stronger that you. All I have to do, is hit your arm and your blade will be mine," the old man taunted, grinning like a wolf.

"I'll keep that in mind, ya' cocksucker!" Aaron bellowed, sniffling as he backed away timidly.

The senior merely chuckled at him. "My, what a filthy, little mouth…"

The smooth and lecherous tone made the youngster shudder with aversion. Propping his feet against the dirt, he pushed himself further away as the man lingered over him and inched his way over his prone form.

To his horror, Aaron felt the brim of the hat cascade forward and cover his eyes. Desperately, he reached to pull the hat away with the hand that held the knife handle, and as soon as he could see, watched as the man's curled fist collide into his soft face. Flashes of starlight exploded across his blackened vision and he faintly groaned when the back of his head bounced harshly against dirt.

Aaron felt the Bauchau's hefty weight on him before he managed to open his eyes. The older man's strong slender hands wrapped around the outside of his throat, pressed his thumbs into his windpipe and pushed down. He gagged for air and tried to scream as Bauchau purposely pressed his knee into Aaron's broken arm. The only sound that managed to come out was a garbled high-pitched whine that sounded like a squealing rabbit.

The old man, who had introduced himself as such a kind elderly passerby, now frothed from his bared teeth as an ugly smile twisted his face. Aaron gaped in wide-eyed fear as his stone-colored eyes gleamed down with fervor at his struggle.

He was enjoying it.

He was _enjoying_ trying to kill him.

And he was going to kill him for sure.

Remarkably, and as his vision began to fog, Aaron realized that the knife that he thought would have flown from his hand, was still clutched in his tight fingers. With blind aim — and luck — the small child brought his hand up with as much speed as he could muster. An inhuman roar leapt from Bauchau's mouth above him, and immediately the suffocating weight on top of his fled as the old man got away from the boy as fast as he could.

Aaron coughed as he rose to his feet, reclaiming the air he had been deprived of to see Bauchau on his ass and the knife sticking crookedly out the side of his thigh. The insane adult looked towards the boy, and hissed angrily at him. The old man swiped for him with an outstretched hand, his fingernails curled towards him like claws, and nearly nicked Aaron's dangling sleeve.

With cumbersome speed, the injured boy child sprang to his feet and ran to get as far away from him as he possibly could.

"Don't fucking run from me you worthless little shit!"

Aaron didn't even bother to look, but the sound of his deranged and boisterous howl only made him propel his feet faster in tandem. There wasn't a single part over his body that didn't hurt, most of it centered on the side with his broken arm, but nothing surpassed the colossal fear that tried to anchor him to the earth. The boy resisted against it, not knowing where he was running, but running as fast as his legs could carry him. The discarded sling flapped against his coat with as much impact as somebody beating a goose feather against his chest.

His muddled mind and clumsy body navigated him between houses and shops he did not recognize through, and at the moment, couldn't care less. His tears marred his vision like looking through a stained-glass window and it caused him to collide into a solid, dark shape.

Despite his adrenaline-fueled and frightened confusion, the boy still recognized what he ran into was another person. Aaron wasn't sure if it was because he was so worked up, or because he thought that Bauchau had caught up to him, he thrashed and screamed in retaliation.

His hand and feet beat against strong muscled legs and a chest as alien arms encircled around him and lifted him up.

Shrieking at the top of his lungs, and thinking the worst was yet to come, he closed his eyes tightly in horror and fought with every bit of strength he had left.

"Aaron! Aaron! Stop! It's Abraham! It's _Abraham_!"

The terrorized boy, who had heard the words in the air, refused to believe them and continued to fight against the cage of arms bringing him closer to the larger body. Abraham, who he couldn't even see though the murky kaleidoscope of color that his flailing produced, could still smell the familiar tobacco smoke as Abraham brought him into a tight embrace. The driver cradled his legs and hefted him up until Aaron's eyes were buried into the black wool of Abraham's coat. It was too familiar not to be him and the boy shivered as the stagecoach driver held him in a soothing and protective embrace; finally ceasing.

Shaking out the last bit of his trepidation little by little, understanding that the person holding him was somebody he knew, and not who he feared it was, wrapped his good arm around Abraham's neck and clung to the material tightly. Black hoisted him up and instinctively Aaron wrapped his legs around his torso as the boy cried into his shoulder.

"I got ya, son… I got ya…"

It sent more tears pouring out of the boy's eyes when he heard those comforting words. It made him swell with appreciation but uncertainty how to feel.

The orphan felt like a coward for hoping this wasn't a fleeting thing, and that the moment Abraham set him down, he would stay.

Or was he just calming him for now and would get rid of him the moment that he put him back on his feet?

While it seemed silly, since if he was so detached wouldn't bother to pick him up in the first place, Aaron still prayed it wasn't the case. Because the moment he did, the child worried that he would be back in the old man's clutches and plunged back into the horror he had endured.

Memory of what occurred just seconds before running into the driver caused him to bawl harder into Abraham's shoulder, letting it soak into the fabric of the ancient coat Aaron knew so well. What had happened? Why had he tried to kill him? The ordeal felt as scattered as broken glass and it was impossible to try and piece together what had occurred. Even now, in the safe concealment of the stagecoach driver's arms, it was still as scary remembering it as it had been when it happened moments ago.

If the Butterfield employee was upset about Aaron using his jacket like a widow's handkerchief, he never once said or expressed it. Instead, and hearing Aaron crying harder into the crook of his neck as he buried his face into his wavy hair, Abraham brushed off the clumsy hat that sat awkwardly on the boy's head and used his hand to smooth the back of his messy corn-colored hair.

The calloused fingers entwined into his blonde locks gently, trying their best to relax the 7-year-old's frazzled nerves. It was gentle, and Aaron could have sworn that Abraham was almost afraid at first to use his hand in such a consoling gesture; unsure how receptive the boy would be. It was certainly new to both of them, and Aaron couldn't recall him ever holding him in this manner at all. Aaron's mother had been the only one to ever do that to him.

The perturbed boy suddenly heard the stoic man, who he had thought had been his enemy for years, suck in a breath, sigh heavily and whisper in an emotional, choked voice: "I'm sorry. I never should've left you in the street. I didn't mean it. I was being fool-headed. I am so sorry… I am sorry for leavin'…"

Hearing the apology, not only surged him with relief, but made the orphan sigh heavily into his coat. The man didn't hate him after all, just as he had suspected. Abraham was remorseful about the bottle and hadn't meant his drunken words like Aaron knew in his heart that he hadn't. No matter how much Aaron had tried to ingrain disdain for him after that; to help him forget. It had felt false when the driver had done it and it was, and there was no better evidence than the candor in his admission. It was true. He was sorry. Aaron knew he was, and deep down the head-strong boy was too for doubting him. And for everything as well…

The child even tried to tell him that, but the words came out in quiet, hysterical gibberish. He just couldn't form any words, as if his mouth had been tarred closed. Abraham's hand ran over his dirty, tangled hair in acknowledgement; he seemed to know what he was saying but didn't want him to overwork himself more. The child complied and settled into his hold.

He felt Abraham begin to walk, once again his hat abandoned to what was happening around him, and marched towards a direction Aaron didn't bother paying attention to.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27** **  
Once Upon a Time in the West  
Part 9  
** _**Truth or Dare** _

* * *

With Aaron supported in Abraham's arms and walking in the direction of Finney's tent, it didn't take long for Aaron's fractured bone to rear its head again. Each step earned a grimace out of the boy, and shortly after, he began to hiss through his teeth. At first, he didn't even realize that the two older men knew each other until Abraham had mentioned where they were headed. Abraham had surprised him when he informed Aaron that he had _already_ met Finney months before the doctor introduced himself in his tent.

"You never did pay any attention to the passengers," the Butterfield employee had chided lightly. It was true; he really hadn't cared about who and what they were hauling. The only thing that concerned Aaron was the Arapaho. On the Smokey Hill Trail, it might as well have been every man for himself regardless if they were supposed to be offering safe passage for both the goods and passengers in the coach.

They approached the white, half hexagon canvas that stood against the backdrop of dark scenery and Aaron let out a sigh. It was also the same tent that Abraham had rushed to drop the girl off, and Aaron was uncertain how to feel about sharing the doctor's attention with her. Upon meeting Mr. Bauchau, her terrible guardian, and knowing that she had been trying to siren him to his doom, Aaron felt incredible resentment towards her and couldn't quash the grudge for her that was taking root no matter how terrible her situation was. Sallie had known what kind of man he was, and still wanted to offer the boy as a sacrificial lamb.

Then again, reconsidering how petrified she was of the man, maybe she had no choice. Still, she should have left the moment she found out what kind of man he was; ran as far away as she could instead of staying.

The boy's eyebrows slanted.

What was wrong with her?

Another disturbing hindsight entered his mind that made him frown with apprehension.

What had he _done_ to her to keep her put?

The boy looked over his shoulder to see the outline of Finney's tent crawl closer into the distance and he grimaced. After what had happened, Aaron wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

Abraham stopped in his tracks and turned his head slightly to look at the back of the child's head out of the corner of his eye. "What's wrong?" the coachman inquired, concerned that it was something he was doing.

Finally, Aaron was able to find his voice since he ran into him, but it still came out like a sniffling murmur. "My… my arm. I fell outta a tree and broke it…"

Against his ear, Aaron could faintly feel the corner of Abraham's mouth frown before it curled up briefly into a faint smile. "Now why'd you go an' do somethin' like that? Chasin' tree rats?"

Despite everything, Aaron smiled at the small joke until his arm shot with pain once again. Abraham grimaced and asked seriously: "Do you need to be let down?"

The young boy nodded even though he didn't want to go back to his lifeless feet just yet; unsure if he had the strength to stand. The old man grabbing him had made his injury hurt even more after the encounter, but now the pulsating discomfort throbbed even more painfully. Carefully, the driver released him, bringing himself down to his tired knees to set the boy on his feet.

Aaron wobbled as soon as his shoes met the flat soil and found himself teetering back and forth. Abraham straightened him by bracing his hands on the sides of the boy's torso, offering a crutch until the youngster got his bearings.

"Can I see?" Abraham asked seriously, sighing at his free arm that had been loosened from the bandage. Aaron nodded and at that same moment, Dr. Finney, threw back the canvas door to exit his tent to see both Abraham and Aaron grimacing at the black, blue and green patterns on the youngster's arm.

"It will heal better if you _don't_ remove it from the sling," Finney frowned, walking over to both. The boy didn't bother to comment, although knew the doctor was right even if the remark somewhat annoyed him. The doctor wasn't as obtuse as the remark made him sound, and it was more of a dry joke than anything. Finney understood that Aaron didn't remove it on purpose, and as gently as he could, did his best to place the broken limb back into the sling.

Abraham turned his attention to the doctor as soon as he fixed the boy, and asked: "She awake?"

The doctor shook his head as the corner of his mouth tugged up with a sad flicker.

The stagecoach employee's eyebrows bridged together. "But she's alright? Just a bruise at the worst?"

" _That_ bruise is not the one I want to talk to you about."

The boy and his guardian picked their chins up at his words and gave Finney similar looks of concern.

Dr. Finney sighed at Black; a morose expression dilated across his features as his eyes slid from Abraham to Aaron, and then back again. The boy understood the look, although had never seen it quite in the same intensity. There was something the doctor needed to share that was not meant for the ears of a child. Aaron had to wonder, given that it was Sallie they were discussing, would it involve Bauchau as well?

The 7-year-old found himself conflicted whether he wanted to know the truth or would much rather have it brushed aside and kept as a Pandora's box away from him by the adults. Despite the secrecy, the two men seemed adamant about securing from him, Aaron wondered if it still meant he needed to confide about what had happened between him and the Gray Man.

The orphan hadn't dared divulged what had happened yet, mostly because he did not want to recant it out loud or even remember it in the silent seclusion of his own thoughts. He wanted to forget. It _had_ been the most prominent reason why he hadn't said anything. Now with the doctor and the driver present, perhaps he should— as a way as offering an explanation to why the girl had a bruise they couldn't share with Aaron. He feared that they would they brush it aside and conclude that it was nothing as Aaron noticed was the worst habits of adults; that it was nothing but a simple bruise that all kids got from playing. Even if he was still sour with her, he didn't want Abraham or Finney to disregard her state altogether. They _had_ to know. The Gray Man had to pay.

Would that mean that he would _have_ to tell them what happened, or could he just hide what he had done to him? Did he really want to hide _that_ from Abraham for the rest of his days and live with it eating at him? Not telling them didn't seem avoidable even if was the most comfortable option at this point.

He wasn't sure and furrowed his brows in hard contemplation. He noticed Abraham took note of his mild confusion and the boy did his best to relax his expression. Right now, maybe it was best to wait, especially with Finney present. It would be hard enough trying to tell Abraham what happened, let alone with the doctor darkening their discussion with his presence.

Aaron faintly heard Abraham instruct him to remain outside as he followed the doctor inside the tent to look at Sallie and his attention diverted back to Finney's addressed unease.

At first, he had no desire to know what was too delicate to share in front of him, but curiosity won against him; as it usually did. Tentatively, Aaron approached the canvas barrier. With a single blue eye poking through the opening, Aaron saw the back of Abraham's coat and the doctor's white shirt hovering over the unconscious form of the girl.

"I noticed this after you left," Finney explained with a grim tone. Through the slit, Aaron could only make out the basic, but recognizable, movements of the doctor's fingers undoing buttons.

With two male bodies in front of the girl on the cot, Aaron raised himself on his toes to try and maneuver around the conjoined wall they created. He never did see what they were looking at on her, but the moment Finney stopped moving his fingers, immediately felt the palpable anger that permeated off both men. Aaron couldn't see their expressions, but by the way their bodies tensed at whatever sight was underneath her clothes, caused rancor to saturate into both of their skins instantly.

Aaron watched as Abraham grasped his hand around the umber-colored handle of his revolver at his hip. He didn't lift it from the holster, but even in the dim amber light of the lantern, the child watched as the man's knuckles turned white the longer his fingers crushed the gun.

The boy shivered at the indignant sigh that came from the usually level-headed man's nostrils. His temper had not only been sparked, but something had incinerated his sane judicious nature. The driver looked at the doctor, his eyes slanted into a piercing silent demand: who did this to her?

Finney shook his head, informing the man that he didn't have the answer. "I don't know his name. I just knew something was not right from how she was behaving, which is why I sent your boy to find her. I suppose it was fortunate that she ran into your coach."

Aaron could sense that despite it all, Finney was trying to calm Abraham, and while the doctor was just as upset as he was, the men seemed to be on different levels of intensity.

"Fortunate." The word fell sourly from Abraham's lips in a venomous baritone that wasn't meant for the Sallie or Finney.

A pause, and then Abraham turned on his heels to storm out of the tent. Aaron felt his eyebrows bridge in concern; he had no clue as to how Finney was able to keep the vehement driver at bay with simply a hand on his bicep. The madness and the lividness inside Abraham's eyes could have melted skin right off the bone with its heat. It was easy to understand why, and with the simple reposition of his body, Aaron was finally able to see the tapestry of violence on the girl's back.

Fresh and old burn marks paid testament to the pain she had endured by the hands of the gray man and was _still_ enduring. They were ugly, hideous and Aaron winced looking at the mutilated flesh. Against the areas of her young body, where the older burns had healed, were red, but muted, pink lines that traced along her skin like roads on an old map. They were pale compared to the raw, and scarlet dotted burns as if they were ashamed of the mess they left on the small girl and tried fading away. The newer charred flesh could only have come from the heated ends of a cigar, and the 7-year-old shivered in trepidation at how much it could have hurt.

The cigar marks were not the only disheartening thing on her back, and upon Aaron discovering them, felt as if the old man had his hands around his throat yet again. Like angry nimbus clouds, the green and black bruises seemed to spread along her back in one massive conjoined block. They still formed a semblance of a shape and Aaron's first thought at what it could be: either a flat piece of wood or a leather belt.

When the blonde boy glanced away from the bruises, unable to stare anymore, caught Abraham's gaze through the tent's opening. The driver didn't seem to rebuke him for spying, but rather, felt guilty that he had allowed the boy to sneak by his defenses and procure himself as a witness.

"You should take her," Finney suddenly suggested, although it was much firmer than what it should have been for a merely offering an idea. The coach driver furrowed his eyebrows at him, his rage not passing just yet.

"I cannot protect her in a tent. You are more capable than I am to keep her safe," the doctor persuaded with a level tone. Finney's eyes glanced in Aaron's direction. "We'll discuss it later— after you get the children settled."

At first, Aaron thought Abraham might reject the idea, but instead solemnly nodded his head; between the two, Abraham was the most capable to defend her. With the click of his boots against the wooden boards of the compassionate doctor's tent, he bent over and gingerly reattached the buttons. Sallie didn't stir, not even when he leaned down and scooped her up and cradled her against his chest much as he had done to Aaron. Black kept a strong arm under her legs as her tired head slumped forward and landed on his shoulder. His other hand found her dark, curly hair and he used it to gently hold it in place as he carried her. Cocooned loosely in the gray, wool blanket from Finney's cot, Abraham ducked under the flap as the doctor held it open for him.

Stepping into the night breeze, Abraham greeted the world outside the doctor's tent with an impressive scowl. His sea green eyes, stark with ire, stared off a thousand miles into the distance as if the source of his anger was standing on the other end. Aaron didn't doubt he was safe in the ex-confederate's company, and even the old soldier himself knew even in the care of two injured children, he was a force to be reckoned. Aaron was certain, feeling safe about betting every dollar he had in his pocket, that if the old man was standing before him Abraham would have killed him without a moment's hesitation.

Looking into his former keeper's eyes, Aaron could tell that he still wanted to and that feeling was not going to pass until he did. It relived the boy, but it also concerned him. Never had he seen Abraham so angry; never so off-kilter from his moral code. He was a sinful man that wanted penance, but now, there wasn't a trace of the man Aaron had been accustomed to. The old man and the scarred girl had re-corrupted him, and the boy found himself frowning slightly.

In the state that the aggravated driver was in, the boy kept silent, even though he knew the repercussions for doing so. Aaron wanted to tell him about what happened but felt that addressing it might make matters worse. Abraham was already furious, and Aaron was frightened what transgressions would become of it. The driver seemed to know this as well and gazed at Aaron with an unreadable expression before turning back to the girl in his arms. The children seemed to be his only anchor for now, but it even they wasn't enough to quell his anger. Still, the man waited for Aaron to speak first; seeing right through the troubled youngster that there was something on his mind.

The stagecoach employee hadn't asked him yet, and the boy knew the man well enough to know that while Abraham desperately wanted to know, would let Aaron reveal it when he was ready. After running into him, the boy had planned that moment to be when they were alone, back at the station, with only the walls to hold the confession away from others.

Then again, perhaps he should tell him now and purposely send him over the ledge; make Abraham search and kill the old man for what he did to the girl and what he tried to do to him.

In a way though, it was redundant. All the evidence that would suggest he would kill the old man was written over his malevolent expression. There was no point in feeding to the already blistering fire in the pit of the man's stomach. Especially when the main concern was to take care of the kids right now.

An act of wrath could come later.

Abraham barked softly at Aaron to follow him, only glancing his direction lightly. He followed the dark-haired man in silence and bit his lip.

With nothing but the sound of footsteps between the two, felt the tension between them breed into worrisome paranoia. What would Abraham think of him once he knew of what happened? Would he still want him around? The orphan understood that it wasn't true, especially after the affectionate display Abraham had put on when he found the weeping boy. But would he be angry that Aaron had let an old man overpower him? He couldn't help but think he would be treated differently after the admission.

The boy scratched the back of his neck as they stepped out into the open street and approached the National Hotel. The girl murmured lightly in her sleep, the small sound almost sounding like a distressed groan as they passed the road. Like most buildings in Atchison, the structure was flat in terms of architectural creativity, except the balcony on the second level that distinguished it from the others. On the very same balcony, with a door cracked open that lead to his room, stood an older man smoking a cigar.

At first, he thought maybe it was Bauchau, and his heart began to flutter rapidly with trepidation. As they approached closer, however, he saw that it wasn't him; the man standing on the porch was larger in girth and sterner in expression. He seemed to be the only one awake now, except for perhaps whoever was at the front desk. Aaron noticed Abraham glancing between the boy and the stranger, and for the briefest of moments, saw the driver question himself if perhaps the boy and the man had run into each other. However, even though Aaron knew he was asking himself that question, let it dissipate as they neared the hotel.

Only the lobby's light and two of the windows conjoined on either side of the boardwalk and reminded Aaron of eyes on a face. Black's boots thudded heavily against the wooden boardwalk and held the door open for Aaron. As they stepped in, both of them came under the scrutiny of the man that had rejected Aaron for a room not too long ago.

He was a short man with greasy red hair under a worn black bowler hat and despite his disheveled, dark clothing he flaunted them as if they were feathers on a peacock; perhaps they were once when he first purchased them, but now they appeared more like rags. Aaron hated him the first time he had ventured into the pine colored parlor but seeing him a second time after what he had said to him, only made him want to beat those squinting evergreen eyes until they were bloody pulps in his sockets.

_"I ain't renting outta room to some fuckin' little back-shootin' killer. Go sleep with the horses if they'll take ya'..."_

Aaron hadn't even said anything; all he had done was merely appear under the hotel's doorframe. But after killing his good for nothin' Pa, it was enough for the man to recognize that the scruffy boy was him. He had been coming into Atchison with Abraham for years to the Butterfield station, but it was the only time they had set foot into his building. Still, the man knew them from passing-by. From what the orphan could gather, he held no animosity towards the driver, but plenty of resentment for Aaron. He also did not seem too fond of the girl either and eyed her with a sore expression.

The passing glare he had specifically for Aaron shifted from him and relaxed to address Abraham in a more professional manner. "Lovely evening. Inquiring about vacancies?"

Abraham nodded at him nonchalantly. "Have any?"

The hotel owner replied that he did and turned his back towards the placard with the set prices. "How long do _you_ plan on staying, sir?"

Aaron hadn't missed the sneer in his direction when the red-head proprietor questioned the driver. It was obvious, even in the presence of the ex-soldier, that Aaron was still unwelcome.

" _We'll_ be staying till the week's end," the driver answered. "With grub and privacy included."

The stout man grimaced instantly as soon as he heard that the room was for _all_ of them roll off of Black's lips. Even though the driver had said it like any confident answer to a conversation, he had meant it to come across intentional. Just the same way as when the owner had disdainfully ignored the children's presence and had directed his previous question at Abraham only.

"I don't want _him_ in here," the man behind the counter addressed firmly. Jerking his head slightly in Aaron's direction.

The tall, lean-muscled driver took a step forward towards the overweight man's counter and Aaron smiled lightly when he saw the man shrink back; as if afraid he might snap at him and smash his fist into his face regardless if he was holding Sallie or not.

"I _want_ those accommodations. Understand me clearly?" the driver told him with an ungovernable snarl of impatience. It was enough to make the smaller man wished he had swallowed his words instead of spitting them out. It was the first time Aaron had seen him boss someone around so turbulently and he wasn't sure if it was a side of his guardian that he necessarily liked seeing.

"Of course," was his immediate answer as he handed over the key with a gulp, fearing Abraham was close to breaking his nose if he delivered an unsatisfactory answer.

Even with all that had happened that night, Aaron looked over his shoulder and threw the owner a victorious smile as he followed Abraham up the stairs and relished at the way every muscle in his face fought against shooting him a hateful look when Abraham also turned to him with a castigated look.

There was nothing the man could say, nor would say while Abraham was around. Knowing that bit of information gave the boy solace; even if it was such a minuscule thing in the end. After the week the child had endured, it was nice to run into some luck.

With his eyes on the back of the driver's wool coat as they climbed the stairs, Aaron had to wonder if Abraham's arrival had truly marked the end of his tribulations. Or if it was nothing more than a momentary break. The boy wasn't stupid. He would eventually have to tell Abraham about what the gray man did to him moments before he showed up.

Now though, was not the time, and both Aaron and Abraham knew that as well. Black turned to Aaron and held out the key as soon as he arrived at the door that had been assigned to them by the hotel's owner. Without a word, the one-armed kid reached out, took it, and turned it in the lock.

It opened almost soundlessly, except for the small creak and the light thud that accompanied it after the door hit the wall. To their surprise, it was more lavish than what they were both expecting. Aaron had never been inside a hotel room and was ignorant if all rooms were supposed to be this furnished. When he looked at his keeper's face for an answer, the boy frowned and understood that his previous assumption had been incorrect.

Each luxury in the room was met by Abraham's gaze with an ire scowl. From the rose-colored curtains and white lace that covered the two windows that led to the balcony, and to the obsidian-colored iron bed. Aaron almost felt ashamed looking at the white sheets that peaked over the edges of the dark blanket like ocean waves creeping in, and then down at his own dusty clothes that would soil them. Even the walnut colored table and chair looked too precious to touch with his unsanitary hands.

It was far too rich for their taste, and the boy was wondering if it was done on purpose because of Abraham's threats because he was either scared or had taken offense to them and this was the only opportunity for spite.

From the sour look on the Butterfield driver's face, it was evident that the older male was leaning towards the latter. But still, Aaron could tell that that the blue-green eyes related a different emotion to Aaron unintentionally. There was depression, as he looked down at the girl and then back to the room. The boy could only guess that it was bitter envy for the men and women that could afford to stay in such posh rooms without the concern of money running out. Maybe, this was also Abraham's first time seeing a room like this as well.

Aaron wondered if the former cavalryman could even afford this room for the time he had wanted. The boy knew the answer: probably not. Especially since he had given Aaron all the money he had in his pocket before departing.

The same money barely spent.

Reaching into his coat, he pulled out the bills that never belonged to the boy and handed it to Abraham. Seeing movement out of the corner of his eye, the driver looked down towards him before his eyes landed on the money in his hand. A warm, grateful smile crept over the man's face at the sight, silencing his racing thoughts about how to go about paying for the room, until his eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the boy.

"You still got quite a bit," the man noted, distressed about the fact. "Would'a figured you'd spent most of it by now."

Aaron let out a despondent sigh from his mouth, feeling as if he had failed some unannounced assignment. "No one would take it from'a killer."

The corn-haired boy watched as anger crawled back up to his face and only stopped when Abraham's glower towards those who wronged the child stared down at him. It was obvious he didn't like Aaron's choice of words, mainly because he knew it was only repeating what he was told throughout Abraham's absence. Guilt developed between the two, replacing the glower adorned on his face, and Aaron suddenly felt as if he should have tried harder to get rid of the money, or at least chosen another set of words. Abraham had failed to shelter the boy from the animosity of older strangers like the hotel owner, and even with what happened downstairs, it was not enough to sponge away the troublesome weeks still in the back of the boy's mind.

"You're ain't what they imply," Abraham consoled, his crow's eyes wrinkling even more as guilt silently etched over his face. Aaron knew it was only a half-truth, and so did Abraham, but for now the boy only acknowledged it by casting his dejected eyes down at the floorboards of their hotel room.

Aaron heard Abraham exhale through his nostrils despairingly before his feet guided him to the bed to set the girl down. He laid her gently on the covers on her side; her closed eyes faced towards Aaron's before Abraham came to kneel in front of him.

The driver scratched the back of his own neck and lifted a single finger gently under the boy's bruised chin. Aaron winced but did his best to repress his expression of pain as the driver lifted his chin to look at him.

The boy stared vacantly into Abraham's eyes as his own searched for explanations to his unanswered questions that the man had been asking in silence after running into him crying on the street— the angry soldier couldn't wait anymore.

"What happened?" Abraham implored softly. Despite asking as tenderly as he could, there was still an aggressive demand behind his words hidden below his concern. Aaron wasn't sure how to answer, or if he should, considering it was still apparent Abraham was still enraged by the abhorrence they had both seen scarred on the back of the girl. Was it the best time to add fuel to an already blazing fire? What would the hostile temper that possessed him to make him do if the boy did?

Abraham's lips pursed slightly, his demeanor projecting his disquiet for Aaron's refusal to answer. It made the boy want to try, not wanting to upset him any further, but couldn't unglue his mouth apart to tell him what happened. He didn't want him to know. He couldn't let him know. Not only because he didn't want to relive it through his testimony, but he didn't want to take the chance of upsetting Abraham even more.

"Did someone hurt you?"

The 7-year-old glanced away from the driver's probing eyes and focused on an object behind the man. He meant to stare at one of the iron knobs of the bedpost but bridged his eyebrows together when he saw the wide-awake blue eyes of the girl on the bed eavesdropping on their scene.

Her dour, pitying look, made him angry and he wondered if Sallie had been pretending to be asleep. For how long? This entire time since the tent? He thought about yelling at her and demand an explanation even with Abraham there to witness it.

The idea dissipated rather quickly he found when he took a moment to really look upon her expression. Sallie was deeply apologetic, remorseful, and even heavily ashamed as her eyes glossed with wetness towards him. A tear ran down her face, sideways across her cheek and stained the blankets under her. The sincerity of her emotion helped abolish some impatience, but it was still not enough to stop being annoyed by her slight deception. Why was she pretending to be asleep? What was her game?

"Why won't you say, son?" Abraham asked, his tone disappointed.

The boy turned away from the girl but still avoided Abraham's gaze; his blue eyes settling on staring at the driver's chest. It was not that Aaron didn't have an answer; it was just he couldn't give it just yet.

For a moment, Aaron felt as if the man was asking him something different and conveyed it more heavily in his penitent eyes. Abraham wanted him to tell him not only to erase whatever horrible and rampant speculations he was conjuring but as a way of building trust again with them both. Abraham wanted to make sure Aaron understood that he could confide anything in him, even if he wouldn't like what he had to say.

It could never ideally be created so quickly, however, and for now, the only understanding of that came from the minimal nod of Abraham's head and the sigh that escaped out his nostrils. The driver understood Aaron wasn't ready, and it was best to let the boy divulge it on his own terms otherwise what the man wished for would never happen.

"I'll be nearby if ya need me," was all the dark-haired man said quietly. "Try an' get some sleep but come find me outside once she wakes up."

A doleful expression sagged the 7-year old's face down when he heard Abraham lifted himself from his kneeled position and left without another word out of the room. All Aaron could do in response was stew in his confusion and fear that he did something worse by _not_ speaking.

Maybe he should have when he had the chance…

Sallie just stared at him and after a few moments passed since Abraham's departure. She seemed more at ease that the stagecoach driver was gone and sat up where she laid on the bed. Aaron threw a glare her direction and he gave her no sympathy when she shrunk like a frightened dog underneath his stare.

"You wanted him to find me, didn't ya?" Aaron accused, sputtering the acrid speculation he had since his encounter with Bauchau. His teeth bared as he marched a couple of feet towards the bed. The accusation was more rhetorical than anything, and even knowing the answer, only made him more indignant with her.

A tear rolled down her porcelain-doll like face, exposing her guilt for all to see. "He… _he_ wanted me to. I'm sorry," she sniffled.

He didn't care and stormed over to the bed with a belly full of rage that needed venting. Sallie's eyes bugged wide and she scooted further away and let Finney's wool blanket fall from around her shoulders.

"He tried ta' kill me! And you _knew_ that was what he was gonna do all along!" Aaron roared; his small fists tight.

The girl shivered and brought her knees up against her chest in an attempt to hide away from the blonde boy's heated gaze. "I-I'm… I'm sorry. I didn't want to! He said he would hurt me if I didn't do it. He always hurts me if I don't do what he says."

Guilt pricked at him and made his enmity falter for a brief second before his demeanor hardened. "Why you let him?" he criticized, his small voice still pitched with annoyance at her. "Why don'tcha run away? Get as far as you can from him if all he does is hurt you?"

A hand came up to wipe a reclusive tear that had made its way down her face. "I don't have anyone. Where would I go?"

Aaron understood the difficult position she was in, and he felt slightly sympathetic— he had been in the same type of circumstance not long ago— but the excuse still didn't sit well with him. "Did you ever even _try_?"

The abused girl nodded her head slightly, almost barely noticeable with it braced on her knees. "He hurts me worse when I do."

She sobbed harder and the sound of her grief cut into his cold attitude like a knife gutting a fish. Tears ran down her knees and soaked her black stockings as she bawled harder, releasing emotions that seemed to of been suppressed inside her who knows how long; perhaps this was the first opportunity she ever had to ever express it. It made him feel even worse even if the sound annoyed him. He didn't want to make anyone cry—he didn't even know he was capable of such a thing—and left him utterly bewildered on how to deal with her. The boy wished that Abraham had never left the room.

"Why you let him do that?" Aaron demanded, more softly this time, as his free hand balled into a frustrated fist. Anger boiled in the pit of his stomach as he remembered every jagged line marked into her.

She must have taken it as more of a reprimand other than a question because she pressed her eyes into her knees and whimpered. Aaron blinked at her, a grimace flickering across his face as his eyes glanced from his shoes to the floorboards and then to the wallpaper of the room. The boy didn't know what to say to make her feel better, and in all honesty with himself, he wasn't sure he wanted to. The fact of the matter was, she still almost got him killed.

_"Why you let him do that?"_

As his blue eyes wandered back over towards her shivering form, he frowned at the question he had uttered before. His tired mind couldn't find an answer when he placed himself in her shoes. The whole thing that happened to him was deplorable—what the man had done to her was deplorable. The information she would not give only made him more bitter, and he refused to believe that it was nonexistent.

Still, in her metaphoric shoes, he walked over to the bed where she was and looked at her. "If it were me—I would have blown his head off for doin' what he's doing."

Surprise and alarm flooded over her face when she lifted it up to look at the other child.

"Ain't nobody got the right to do that and should be in a coffin if they do!" Aaron told her, nodding his head hard at her as his blue eyes darkened with seriousness. Her face paled at him, and the tears on her face paused for a moment, as she blinked at him—her full attention captured.

"If it had been me—he'd be dead," the boy promised venomously. Sallie's mouth gaped at him, flabbergasted by his words as if he was speaking an unforgivable taboo. Was it though? The gray man deserved it! And by the look of understanding on her face, the idea slowly worming her way into her small mind, she didn't need too much further convincing to see that he may be right. This man was the exception to something most would think horrible.

"He even relation?" Aaron interrogated, wondering with disgust how a grandfather could beat their own grandchild. He thought they were supposed to be nice—at least what he had heard from other people.

Sallie shook her head. "They put me on the train. He said… I was to go with him when I got here. I had nowhere else to go."

She didn't have to explain any further— any stray knew it meant the Orphan Train. It had been suggested to him several times during Abraham's absence by scornful strangers that he should board it as well and leave Atchison. Aaron had even seen it once or twice and had never given it much thought until now. The motherless boy could have been a part of the mass of young faces stuffed together in cars and charted off to strangers who only wanted them for their own needs. If not for Abraham, he would have taken the same ride as Sallie did and could have ended up with a man worse than Bauchau. The thought made goosebumps flush over his skin just thinking about it.

"He took you just so he could _hurt_ you?" Aaron asked, his small voice a horrified whisper that he was surprised she even heard.

"Why would he take me if he didn't want me?"

The words didn't seem right coming from her, and he wondered if that was something that Bauchau had said to her every time she had asked that same thing. It repulsed him to picture the same man breaking him the way he had done to her. Rendering him an empty vessel Aaron had difficulty even imagining, with those same hateful and manipulative words directed at him if he had ended up in the gray man's clutches.

A different type of anger stewed inside him— a selfless one, he supposed.

Something had to be _done_ about Mr. Bauchau.

He would have said more, but Abraham's voice fluttered through his mind, presenting him with a weighty choice.

_"You ain't what they imply."_

He thought about listening, but this was different.

It was not the same as it was killing his Pa. While he may have been a sonvabitch, Aaron's conscience told him that his father, although awful, wasn't as bad as the gray man was. Who would feel guilty about getting rid of such a man? She could get rid of his without remorse.

The affirmation that the young child's speculation might be true was the way Sallie seemed to silently agree with him. As scared as she was, she wanted to get away from him more. She looked so lost and fragile, but even her timid nature silently agreed with him that the old man had to go. She was still understandably petrified —thinking only about what could still happen if Bauchau caught her. That she would never get away from him.

But there was _still_ hope, and she didn't realize yet.

Even if she didn't pull the trigger _herself_ , somebody _else_ could.

Nobody could say they would miss the old man after seeing what he had done to her back.

No jury and no rope around the neck.

_"Do good deeds and endure."_

What better good deed?

And besides, he wasn't suggesting that _she_ do it. He already knew one person that wanted to kill Bauchau more than they did.

Maybe now was the time to tell Abraham.

He paused for a moment. The realization about what he just thought of jarring him. In his gut, it didn't feel right having Abraham doing the kid's dirty work, but at the same time, he'd knew Abraham would be a willing party. He knew that Sallie would never go along with it no matter how much she hated and feared him, and Aaron knew that she would most likely indirectly sabotage Aaron's idea.

Perhaps if she understood why it needed to be done— to see it from somebody else's viewpoint— she would go along.

"My pa' killed my momma right in front of me," the 7-year-old began, his voice a strained croak. The memory catapulted back to him and he sucked in a breath. Sallie looked up at him, the mere look of her sadness for him draining his energy the more she stared at him. Aaron did his best to ignore it; he didn't want her sympathy, only to listen to what he had to say.

"I found him and shot him with the Philly I keep in my pocket," Aaron confessed, a small bit of remorse in his words; it was a sour memory. The girl didn't seem to pick up on that, and instead, was more interested in the facts of his story.

"You… _you_ killed him?" she asked timidly. The girl with the ribbon gazed upon him with a fearful expression.

Instead, the boy solemnly nodded; a callous frown on his face as the image of his father smiling down at him, laughing and mocking him with his bastard friends entered his mind. Aaron also remembered being under the bed years before and watching his mother being strangled in front of him. The only thing he could see where her feet thrashing as he sat on top of her with her hands around her throat and frothing at the mouth with unrestrained rage.

"He had it comin'."A tear ran down the boy's face and he wiped it away with a harsh flick of his hand, but he still failed to hide it from her view. "And its _better_ without him."

Sallie watched him in silent curiosity, as if chiseling every word, he spouted with consideration into her brain. The girl bit her lip as they both remained silent for the longest time, none of them speaking a word to one another. The air around them felt heavier, awkward, and it made his lungs feel as dense as an iron weight.

The girl looked as if she felt the same way, but he could tell there was something different going through her mind. Contemplation pulled across her soft features, flickering across her face like candlelight fighting against a gust of wind; an idea she was deliberating about. What it was, Aaron couldn't guess, and he figured that it was probably her putting his scattered story together with the minimal pieces he had given her.

For a brief moment, Aaron could have sworn he heard boots outside of the door walking away. However, he shook his head and ignored it as he waited for Sallie's response.

The boy couldn't take the silence anymore and with a shake of his head, asked the first question that popped into his mind. "Were you pretendin' this whole time?"

"What?" she murmured, pulled from her thoughts.

"Pretendin' to be asleep," Aaron simplified.

After a pause, as if debating whether what to tell him, nodded her head. "Because… they saw."

Her eyes blinked rapidly, and Aaron thought she would cry again. Instead, she sucked in a breath and crossed her arms over her chest and gripped the white, ruffled shoulders of her dress. The fellow orphan understood; she was scared—embarrassed—even ashamed of herself. She was acting to avoid the adults that had uncovered her secret in the Finney's tent and didn't want to hear the questions they had right now from people she didn't know.

Aaron scratched the back of his neck, as if hoping the action would peel away the awkward air that had settled on them both. Unsure what to do, he did the only thing that made sense to him.

"I'll be right back. I'm gonna go get Abraham," was the only goodbye the boy could choke up as he turned on his heel and left. As he did, he barely caught the sudden, anxious gasp out of her mouth when he told her he was bringing the stagecoach driver up.

"Please don't!" she cried, one of her hands outstretched towards him.

Aaron huffed as he shook his head in slight disbelief. "I'm just gonna tell him you're awake— like he asked."

Truthfully, they both knew that he was lying and what his true intent was. Perhaps she wasn't as dumb as he thought she was. Regardless of her previous reaction, it still shocked when she leaped from the bed and grabbed his hand. Her small fingers wrapped around his, and despite how small she, grappled him tightly. Aaron jerked his hand back, taken aback by her, as his face twisted into a pained scowl.

"Let go of me!" Aaron hollered, pulling away from her.

"Please... I don't want anyone else to get hurt cause of me!" she begged, tears spilling out of her eyes.

"I said get off!"

With a hard yank, he managed to slip his arm out of her grasp. The sudden motion sent her falling backwards onto her bottom. He heard her whimper when she hit the floor and the tremor of her weight under his boots. It was harsh, but not as harsh as the next words that came out of his mouth.

"We ain't gonna get hurt because we're not cowards like you! If you had enough sense, you'd be long gone from him by now!"

Her lips trembled as her glassy eyes glanced at the floor, trying to avoid his heated gaze. Aaron felt guilt for his words, only meaning to get his point across instead of hurting her further. It didn't change the fact that he was still angry with her and at least he was getting his point across to her finally.

"I'm gonna tell Abraham," Aaron finally said, cutting down any objection she was about to say as he turned on his heel. He turned on his heels, suddenly feeling uncomfortable facing the door and the first hurdle to his path downstairs to Abraham. The idea still didn't feel right to him, but perhaps that meant he was doing the right thing?

It was the only solace he had, and the thought made him swallow nervously.

"Was your papa mean to you too?" her small voice called, stopping him before his hand could grip the door handle. For a brief second, Aaron almost thought she was talking about Abraham, and he almost snorted out loud at the thought of Abraham being as mean as Mr. Bauchau. But he understood that she was referring to his real father, the son of a bitch that had dared to call him his son. A scowl presented itself on his face as he nodded his head; answering her question.

"Did it make it better after you killed him?" she asked carefully. Aaron turned to her and stared earnestly into her wide, impressionable blue eyes. She waited for his response as if he was a soothsayer about to deliver a prophecy and he didn't particularly enjoy the attention. However, he could never snake oil the answer no matter who asked it, because, in his heart, the answer he gave would forever and completely be honest.

"Yes."

He didn't look at her as he exited the hotel room; regretful of his answer no matter how true it was.

_"You ain't what they imply."_

Aaron doubted those words even though Abraham had spoken with sincerity. Why did he have so much faith in him that he didn't deserve? Was there a chance?

_"Do good deeds and endure."_

Maybe this was his? Getting his amends through Abraham killing someone that needed killing like his Pa? Unlike last time though, the driver could pull the trigger instead of having the child do it. The boy was concerned for a moment about what would happen in the aftermath, especially since Aaron had just recently been released from the Sherriff's jail cell, but the 7-year-old knew it would be just as brief.

Abraham would go to trial, but after the jury saw Sallie's back, nobody would hang him. Just like the good, Christian folks of the small Kansas town couldn't bring themselves to hang a child. The Butterfield employee would walk free by the end of the week for killing such a monstrous man— women would even make him pies thanking him for purging such evil from their town.

Aaron was certain of it.

So why was he having a hard time accepting it?

Still, as the boy timidly walked down the stairs of the stale cigar-scented hotel, he rubbed his thumb over his sweaty palm. Although he had confidence about Abraham's fate, he did not want to put it into motion because the only way for Abraham to do it, was to anger him even more than he was already.

There was some reassurance for his plan knowing that it wouldn't take much, and Aaron speculated he would have ended up killing Bauchau if he did tell him or not, but shame still coiled in the pit of his stomach like a villainous snake. It felt wrong doing this but knew that it had to be done. The gray man _had_ to die. Aaron had seen his eyes; those black, avaricious pits. There was no other way to stop him from doing what the elderly man enjoyed— inflicting pain— except for someone put a bullet in his skull.

It didn't take Aaron long to find Abraham outside the hotel, and the driver didn't move from the wooden pillar he was leaning against. Aaron stopped on the stairs and watched the man outside. Thankfully, the hotel owner had left the front desk, so only the boy's presence occupied the dark lobby. He stayed on the stairs for a moment, and through the pane of glass to the outside, he noted Abraham's dark expression.

Just like what had happened in Finney's tent, the boy could feel the driver's anger from where he was on the steps. Apparent and as strong as smoke in the air. Aaron sat down on the steps and watched him through the bars, suddenly feeling unable to move from his spot. Whether the ex-soldier knew he was there or not, he didn't indicate it, but if he had, Aaron was certain he would have welcomed him with an unhappy gaze for being spied on. As the dark-haired man chewed on the inside of his cheek, Aaron caught the sound of the man tapping something against the wood of the boardwalk.

The worried youngster wasn't sure what it was, but it continued, and with each tap against the wood, Abraham's own anger escalated slowly.

It wasn't the same man Aaron had grown accustomed too. The man beyond the hotel was methodical, but unhinged, as he worked through his own riotous thoughts.

_Tap_

_Tap_

_Tap_

Even with the glass marring a clear view of his surrogate paternal figure, there was nothing Aaron could see that was recognizable of the stoic, controlled man. If he had to guess who it was, Aaron had to guess it was the soldier. The man Abraham had told him was so full of absolute resentment for the world until he met his mother. When the coachman had told him about who he used to be, Aaron had a hard time believing him, but now before him, there was no denying his past persona when it was evident before him.

_Tap_

_Tap_

_Tap_

Needless to say, Aaron did not like him. The hateful candor in his eyes burned as if Bauchau was right before him. That brought up the question, what would the soldier do that Abraham wouldn't?

As if the Confederate outside had heard him, Abraham raised his gun, the one that he had been tapping against the wood and emptied the bullets from it one by one. Even someone as young as Aaron could understand...

When he came across the Gray Man, Abraham wasn't planning on wasting a bullet on him.

Unloading the last bullet, Abraham must have caught him out of the corner of his eye and turned towards the window and looked inside. As soon as the man caught his gaze and finally realized that Aaron had seen a glimpse of the man, he regretted he once was, he turned away slowly, as if shunning himself for letting Aaron peek behind the curtain. He could see Abraham's fist balled up before he saw the man's shoulders sag as he reached into his coat and pulled out tobacco.

Suddenly, Aaron's plan didn't seem so well thought out.

It was unnerving seeing the soldier finally. The man who wanted to kill. Who seemed like he took pleasure in killing. He knew how much Abraham hated that past and knew the only reason he was able to change was because of his mother. She was gone from their lives and the only string attaching him to her was Aaron. The one that was keeping him straight and away from falling back into his turbulent old habits.

And Aaron's plan was to push him further.

Now, the child understood why the plan had not felt right. Why it didn't seem to follow Finney's guidelines.

For Aaron to get the result he wanted, he needed the soldier and not the coachman.

That was not who he wanted. He wanted Abraham, maybe even needed Abraham to prove something to him.

When Aaron looked up and watched as one of Atchison's deputies pass by the window, the boy realized that he had been wrong and had made a more grievous error in the process.

Abraham was willing and could do what needed to be done without the need of his old self. In retrospect, it was the same as it had been with his Pa. Maybe there was a way to get justice for all that Bauchau had done while also delivering him his comeuppance. The hangman's rope was no bleeding heart, and neither would the jury be once they found him.

But if the law didn't find him, it was unquestionable that Abraham would.

Aaron, still seated on the stairs, came to the painful conclusion that there was no way he could tell Abraham what had happened between him and Sallie's keeper. He didn't want the soldier and feared what could happen not on Bauchau's sake, but on Abraham's. It would tarnish what Aaron liked about him.

However, there was no way that the man could get away with what he had done either. It was the only reason he managed to climb back to his feet and walk down the steps.

The boy's mind raced through a thousand scenarios of the soldier with Bauchau and Aaron contemplated the aftermath. What if Abraham's actions were too bloody to be forgiven— even if it was Bauchau? Aaron couldn't be alone again. But he couldn't keep what had happened a secret.

_Tell him._

_No, wait._

_He needs to know._

_He has to go._

_Abraham doesn't need to do this._

_But Bauchau deserves it._

_His Pa deserved it!_

Only the moon and the lanterns nearby caste any glow on the man as he kept his back to the boy, and exhaled tendrils of smoke from his lips. The driver was still missing his hat, and it was still odd seeing his caretaker without it but approached him with measured footsteps until he stood next to him.

Now that he was next to him, the words he had practiced down the stairs died on his tongue; the very same words that would bring forth the soldier.

_You ain't what they imply_

The boy opened his mouth but closed it when nothing but a defeated sigh escaped. Abraham turned to him, studying him, as he took the rolled cigarette between his fingers as he inhaled again. The man waited for something and visibly tensed with indignation as if he knew what Aaron was going to say even if he didn't know it was intended to upset him.

Aaron couldn't dare to look up at him and instead focused on the particles of dirt on the boardwalk they stood on. He could feel the driver's astute eyes on him, analyzing every small detail that Aaron tried to hide from him. It wasn't scrutiny, and the boy knew it was concern that filled them as he looked down at the boy, but he still couldn't say what needed to be said.

_He had it comin'_

_You ain't what they imply_

He was such a coward.

All he had to do was speak and all he could do was stand there like a slack-jawed idiot.

But how could he want this for Abraham if he wasn't what everyone in this damn town thought he was?

How was he better than Bauchau, or the soldier... or his father.

Emotion swelled up within him and before he could bottle it down, he burst into tears. Aaron didn't even reach to dry them, too embarrassed to even do that.

He couldn't do that to Abraham.

A calloused hand came to land on his shoulder and gently pulled him to its owner. Abraham embraced him in a calm, and sturdy hold as Aaron buried his eyes into Abraham's waistcoat. He cried into the man's wool vest, feeling the cold chain of his pocket watch tickle the corner of his cheek every now as he slowly eradicated every somber feeling he had been holding on to. Abraham discarded the cigarette, forgetting it entirely, as his free hand came up to ravel itself in his yellow hair. Aaron was thankful that he didn't say anything, but both of them came to a mutual understanding at that moment. They both understood why he couldn't tell him just yet but knew that what needed to be done would.

There were other ways. Ones that were not so irredeemable.

Bacuhau would still answer for what he did, but perhaps there was a way that didn't corrupt the both of them.

* * *

They were both seated on the boardwalk by the time daylight had already began to set the sky on fire with an amber glow. Neither of them hadn't said anything, but after the upset boy had finally depleted what was left of his sadness, they sat there in mutual silence. It was not to say that the boy wasn't still upset, and that tension remained unspoken between them; aware of its existence and refused to acknowledge it until it was more appropriate.

Abraham had lit another cigar as the sun slowly rose over the top of the buildings that still blocked most of its light like artificial mountains. Aaron also held a cigar in his hands, given to him after Aaron had eyeballed the one between Abraham's finger one too many times. It was his first-time smoking, and the only time Abraham had ever caved in; he didn't enjoy the look of seeing the boy with a cigar in his hands but agreed he had earned the opportunity this one time.

Aaron couldn't help but feel he had been taught a lesson— he hated the taste the second the paper rested on his lips. Still, he inhaled his first whiff and gagged. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes and despite not being able to see clearly, swear he saw the coachman smirk lightly as he pressed his own cigar to his lips. The Butterfield employee had warned him that he wouldn't like it, and as predicted, the boy didn't after all. Now he believed him.

This was the version of Abraham he certainly liked better he noted to himself.

Abraham had taken it away after Aaron had let it linger in his hand, untouched after his first attempt, and extinguished it against the dusty floorboards of the boardwalk. Tucking it back into the front pocket of his vest, they both watched as railroad workers stumbled from their tents and tiredly walked towards the hotel. Aaron could smell breakfast cooking from inside the building behind him and his stomach growled the very moment it hit his nose. The grungy men, all of them reeking of last night's boozing and yesterday's work, sauntered into the hotel to take their place in the breakfast line.

As the door closed, Abraham threw his cigarette to the dirt and picked himself up. Aaron followed him, smacking his lips in one last attempt to get the taste of tobacco out of his dry mouth. He hoped that whatever was being served for breakfast would dilute the taste out. Aaron didn't know how the older man could stand it, and perhaps that would be a mystery that he wouldn't understand until he was older.

They took their place in line behind the railroad workers and the boy cursed under his breath when he saw how the long the line had already formed before they had even opened the door. Patrons of the hotel already stood patiently as the line moved slowly. Aaron stood on his toes and leaned to the side; trying to get a better view at what waited for them at the end.

"Goddamn pieces of brick, 'gain," he heard one of the workers in front of them mutter in disdain. Aaron furrowed his eyebrows; biscuits weren't his favorite, but it was better than nothing. More people joined the line behind them as the tables in the main dining hall filled up and the rest of the men in line stood inside the parlor with the metal plates in their hands. The dining area wasn't much to boast about except for the long bar, piano and multiple deer heads that lined the back wall. It was small as well, and he was unsure of how there was room to even accommodate everyone. It smelled even worse of cigar smoke than the rest of the building did, and Aaron silently prayed that the week they would stay in the hotel, would fly by briefly.

It was his turn to grab a plate from the pile that sat on top of the bar and the smooth dinnerware slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a clumsy bang. It rolled past Abraham's feet and the boy chased after it, losing his place in line and grabbed it before it collided with another man's shoes.

The sound of gunfire cracked in the distance, disturbing the quiet placidity of the early morning. Many looked up, the railroad workers didn't react, and Aaron found himself flinching at the sound; surprised by it. It was frivolous though to wonder what caused the gun to go off since he had heard the sound so much in his short lifetime, he was numb to it; it had the same effect as a bird call. The only abnormality was that he hadn't expected it first thing in the morning.

Both picked up the light-yellow rolls set out for them, and Aaron frowned when discovering what the train workers had grumbled about had been true. They were stone hard and did not look at all appetizing upon closer inspection. Aaron could swear he saw the wing of a horse fly sticking out of the bumpy surface. Still, it was still far better than anything he had eaten on the Smokey Hill Trail. A ladle came into his view and he looked up to see Abraham pouring the pasty gravy the over his biscuits.

"Should help with the taste," the coach driver winked. Aaron smiled weakly; the gravy wasn't at all encouraging to him. At least the hard-boiled eggs looked decent.

"Black."

Heads turned towards the door and Aaron frowned at the sight of the familiar and unpleasant shotgun messenger. Zachariah met his stare with as much enthusiasm as the boy gave him but ignored him the minute Abraham began to walk over towards him. The youngster tried to follow him, but the driver's palm shot behind him and told him to stay put. With the plate still in his hand, heavy with an untouched meal, he watched as the two men talked, Zachariah looking somewhat more agitated than usual.

The child couldn't overhear what they were saying thanks to the other conversations in the room drowning out the Butterfield's employees, but as Abraham turned to him, the man offered a reassuring smile as he approached Aaron and Zachariah left without through the hotel door.

"I'll be back in a bit," he told him, the plate of food still in his hand.

"Where are you goin'?" the child asked, chewing the inside of his cheek.

"Jus' gonna stop by the livery," the man replied. Placing a hand on Aaron's good shoulder, he leaned forward and requested: "Take some food up to the girl too, would ya? She is probably just as hungry."

Diffidently, Aaron realized that he had forgotten about the girl after coming down to talk to Abraham, and sheepishly scratched the back of his neck as he nodded to him as the man headed to join his partner.

Looking down at the plate of food, a weary grimace pulled at the corners of his mouth and decided that he could at least give her his first. Leaving the hotel's room behind, he carried the breakfast up the stairs. An idea came to mind as he ascended the wooden stairs: he could tell Sallie what they planned to do. It would make her feel better and give her the first glimmer of faith she had probably had in the longest time.

As he entered the hallway on the second floor and passed by the rooms, Aaron tried to silence any doubt he had about his original plan. There was a possibility that she might not go along with what they had in mind, perhaps still too scared to get the sheriff involved. The boy huffed out an exasperated breath as he closed in on their assigned room. Why was doing the right thing so complicated? He thought that it was supposed to make people feel better, not tired.

Turning the bronze colored handle, Aaron stepped inside the room and felt all the air leave his lungs— stolen by the sudden shock of entering an unoccupied room.

Sallie was nowhere to be found.

Aaron walked all over Atchison for her the entirety of that day, searching every place the young boy had access to. No matter his efforts though, there was no trace of her, as if Sallie had never existed at all. At first, the boy couldn't figure out how she had managed to do it; the window was closed, and Abraham and Aaron would have spotted her sneaking out the front door. It wasn't until he found the back door to the hotel did it make sense to him.

After looking under the bed of the room, Aaron didn't even remember if he sat the plate of food down but was certain that it was probably being eaten by flies nonetheless, he set out on his mission to recover her. At first, he debated against it but ultimately knew that if he didn't at least try, he'd regret it.

* * *

Twilight had already begun to settle on the landscape, and besides a sliver of fiery orange and calm azure, stars had already pierced the dark veil above him when he finally gave up.

Back at the schoolhouse and under the tree where he had first met her, he sat defeated against the trunk in silence as he watched the last remnants of the day disappear under the horizon. Candlelight and lanterns flickered inside the glass windows of the buildings like embers in the distance, showing the 7-year-old where the town was in the dark.

He didn't want to start walking towards it just yet, knowing the moment he entered Atchison, Abraham would want to know what happened to her. He would ask why she fled and no matter how long he spent against the tree trying to come up with an excuse, the truth was, he didn't know and would not be able to give an acceptable answer.

The only thing that was certain was Aaron was responsible for her disappearance even if he wasn't sure _why_. It was guilt that kept him seated against the elm and anger for her disappearing without knowing why made him frightened to see Abraham. But there was no other fate for him though other than to face the coach driver and his questions.

Grudgingly, he rose to his feet and walked towards the sleepy rural town that was beginning to settle in for its nightly routine. He could already see men, rough bachelors and married men alike, walking about the gravel streets; being called by temptation towards the house of sin of their choosing, while others ducked into their homes to sleep over and ignore what they did.

The National Hotel stood out with the saloons and brothels prompting a sudden thought to enter his mind.

There was also the possibility that this was all just a misunderstanding, and she had always intended to return to the hotel. Perhaps the reason she left was to grab some items and Sallie thought Abraham could help her escape. Where else could she possibly go except three places? Finney's tent, Aaron and Abraham's room or back in Bauchau's possession.

Speaking of which, the doctor's tent was the only thing that the boy had avoided and only because he wanted to answer the man's prodding questions as much as he wanted to answer Abraham's. Thankfully, he wouldn't have to answer anything from either...

That is if she truly was at the National.

There was no avoiding either of them if that wasn't the case, and Aaron let out a tired sigh at the thought. Just trying to guess what they would ask them was tiring enough and with that fact, it was getting harder to persuade his feet to move towards Atchison once again.

The orphan wished he could stay in the dark, hidden against the tree until dawn; until Abraham finally tracked him down and the boy's borrowed time was up trying to delay his inevitable interrogation. However, waiting was almost as painful as forcing himself to get it over with.

Besides, there was still the happy thought Sallie was with Abraham right now, sitting on the bed of the hotel room answering his inquiry in his stead. Maybe the most Aaron would have to do tonight was nod his head, keep quiet and ask questions the young child had on his own mind if she was to come with them.

It filled him with small relief, and he was certain that the hotel was where they both were.

He _hoped_ that was where they were.

As soon as he passed by the first set of buildings that greeted him into the town, he felt the hairs on his arms bristle uncomfortably. Atchison had never been his favorite town on all the stops on the Smokey Hill Trail, but the past few weeks had forever cemented his hatred for the Kansas town. He would ask Abraham never to bring him here again. He'd rather settle for a plot of land in Arapaho territory than choosing to ever call this place home. He would gladly enjoy the life of a vagabond with Abraham instead of a permanent resident of this damned purgatory.

For once, he looked forward to leaving on the coach again, even if he was wedged with Zachariah on it. Aaron had to wonder, however, what was the be done with Sallie? Would she be coming with them as well? Perhaps Abraham would promise her to look for someone decent along the way. Or maybe, she would go with the Children's Aid Society and be jumping back on the Orphan Train.

Or, she would be joining them as well.

That idea didn't sit well with the corn-haired orphan and he chewed the inside of his cheek at the thought of her around all the time. Even if she was a broken nobody like Abraham and Aaron was, he preferred to remain an only child. The main reason being, not because he was averse to having a sibling, it was he didn't want to see the gray man and remember him after Atchison. With Sallie around, he would see him every time he looked at her—every time he thought of her now, he saw the Bauchau.

The troubling concept that she might linger with them made him pick up his feet quicker as if getting to the hotel faster would alter any decision Abraham decided on. As unlikely as that was, he continued to walk at the same hurried pace, kicking up clouds of small dust behind his heals.

Begrudging, Aaron realized that the best way to the National was to pass by Finney's tent on the way, but he was confident he could avoid the man altogether if he was cleaver with his steps. The affair between himself and the doctor was still puzzling to him, especially when he hadn't realized that he had already met the doctor, or more accurately, Finney knew he was Abraham's ward.

While it made the doctor's at ease approach towards the boy understandable, it still hadn't been reciprocated. A former passenger or not, Aaron still didn't know Finney and didn't take too warmly to him even if he did fix his arm.

The boy eyed the tent with an unyielding watchful gaze as he approached it— and at the same time kept his space away. Still, at this comfortable distance, he could hear Finney inside his makeshift home and office at work. His voice carried to Aaron and despite not being able to make out the words, the boy could make out the desperation in his tone. It caused the injured child to stop in his tracks for a bit, curiosity about what was going on inside the doctor's quarters taking control for the second time that day.

The boy couldn't make out shadows through the tent, but the glow of the lantern softly bled through the canvas and outlined several people in the tent. There was Finney— he guessed— as the frantic dark cloud moving to and fro between work desks for objects. There was a body on the cot, his patient, and then there was another that stood by; a still dark shape that observed quietly.

Then, as quickly as Finney had been moving in the tent, all the occupants in the tent went slack, and an uncomfortable silence not only entered the tent but carried outside to Aaron as well and he shared the palpable heaviness of something horrible that had just happened.

Daringly, the apprehensive child found his feet moving towards the tent, almost by their own accord. The 7-year-old knew better though— he had to see. He had to quell the desperate pleas in his mind that begged that the body on the cot wasn't who he thought it was. The injured boy grew more hesitant with each silent footfall outside the tent as a voice in the back of his mind petitioned desperately for him to run the other direction — already knowing who and what was beyond the curtain.

As if controlled by an indifferent puppeteer, the boy's hand lifted to the curtain's door and pulled back the flap with reluctant concern, and his face immediately fell with instant regret at the scene displayed before him.

He should have looked harder for her.

Aaron felt the blood drain from his face as he stared at Sallie cold and dead from the cot that was almost barricaded from view from Finney and the other man that he immediately recognized.

While the young boy stared at the bloody young girl upon the cot with utmost trepidation, Abraham looked upon the barely recognizable Sallie with haunting stillness. Aaron was actually somewhat grateful that he could not see Abraham's face, just feeling his rancor alone was enough to make the boy want to bury himself into the earth like a forgotten skeleton.

The doctor's eyes locked on to the new trespasser in the tent, and stared at him with palpable hesitance seeing Aaron outside; he didn't want the child to see what was unfolding before him — both upon seeing Sallie's broken body and his guardian's furious reaction.

The youngster's eyes didn't stay focused on the doctor's for long— neither did Finney's— as the flexed back towards the coachman's unmistakably malevolent, but silent disposition, as he surveyed the girl before him.

The blue-eyed boy's gaze dropped to the small cadaver that sat on the cot, her blood already painting the taupe cloth with crimson blots as her blood coagulated from the battered face of the small girl. While her face was broken— which included her nose, mouth, cheeks— her expression was serene as if her body was thankful for the reprieve from its torture finally. A gunshot to the chest had procured her demise, and Aaron's thoughts went back to breakfast when he had heard the random shot in the town. It didn't take long for the young boy to connect the two events with each other and felt his stomach sink at the realization that she had been dead before he went out searching for her. They were eating breakfast while she was being killed. Her mutilation disturbed the young boy, close to her age, to no end. She had been beaten mercilessly, and despite only being witness to the aftermath, replayed the brutal assault in his mind. Imagining her pained whimpers, heartbreaking screams, and the sound of crunching bones over a volume of wet blood soaking the fists of her attacker. Then the crescendo of the gun pointed at her, and firing for the whole town to here but oblivious. Her short terrible life ended by his abhorrent hands.

The visage of the gray man crept into his thoughts like a demonic phantasm, and the boy shuddered under the memory of the man's deplorable hands on his throat, and the ghastly image of the elation he conjured trying to end Aaron's life. He imagined the same image the last Sallie saw before he pulled the trigger; savagely jubilant in causing her harm. The blonde boy sucked in a heavy breath, and couldn't stop himself from picturing himself in Sallie's shoes.

It could have been him.

It _almost_ was _him_.

Abraham could have been staring at Aaron instead of Sallie.

The ex-soldier raised a hand towards the girl, placing a shaking hand upon her and letting it rest over the blood-soaked white dress where her heart once was, replaced now with a gaping gunshot wound. The young child couldn't tell if Abraham's hand was shaking from horror upon what was in front of him, or utmost rage until his hand curled into a trembling ball against the girl's form.

The boy noticed an angry vein jut itself along the stagecoach driver's tanned skin along his neck, as he turned towards the doctor with a painfully clenched jaw. The driver uttered just a single word, the only vocal indication of his complete vehemence.

"Where."

Finney only blinked in apprehension of hearing the word so venomously seethed through Abraham's lips. The doctor's eyes glanced to Aaron's for the briefest of seconds, trying his best not to involve the young boy to his keeper's wrath, and turned his attention back to his with stout resolute. The older man either didn't know or refused to tell him, it was hard to tell for the youngster. He didn't understand why the doctor would relent the information after what was placed inside his tent. The son of bitch deserved what he had come to for doing what he did to the girl. He was a murdering son of a bitch that needed a noose!

Aaron frowned suddenly at his last thought; stopping himself for a brief moment to analyze the doctor's reasoning more closely. Yes, it was undeniable that the gray man deserved to swing for what he had done but deserved the bullet in his back even more.

Strangely, however, Finney had now been placed in the same situation as Abraham had been when it was Aaron that wanted nothing more than revenge against his injustice. The boy was never remorseful over the fact that his father had gotten what he had coming to him, but he had always regretted the bridge it threatened to create between Abraham and himself. The man had tried his best to save his damned soul, and unfortunately, they both made mistakes in trying to seek out their own resolutions to the same problem.

Now, Finney was seemingly doing the same, despite how much it looked like he wanted to let Abraham loose. The boy's conjecture was easily read from the man's face as he withheld what he knew from Abraham. He did not condone what the bastard had done to Sallie, but he refused to allow Abraham to administer his own brand of brutal justice — the brand that was the ex-soldier's forte before Aaron's introduction into his life. It wasn't that Finney was trying to protect the gray man from a certain and very deserved death, he was trying to spare Abraham's soul blackening and in the meantime, spare Aaron from being a witness to it.

Do good deeds and endure.

Aaron wasn't sure if Abraham could endure letting the gray man live if he told the ex-confederate what the man had tried to do to him before they ran back into each other. Abraham had pursued and failed to learn back at the National, but the soldier would most certainly get the answer from him.

Abraham suddenly grasped the doctor by the lapels of his coat, pulling him towards him with an impatient vehemence. "I asked you _where_ the fuck he is."

Aaron shuddered at his surrogate parent, taking a small step away from the tent as the former solider stared at the man with dwindling restraint the more he kept silent. For a moment, the child pictured himself with the soldier's hands upon his coat, glaring down at him with diligent ferment for an answer that he could not give. It frightened the boy, and he found himself backing away from the tent even more.

Perhaps he heard his shaky breathing from beyond the tent wall, or just because he saw him out of the corner of his eye, but whatever the reason, Abraham turned towards the door and set his eyes upon him.

To the boy's surprise, Abraham didn't appear offended that he had been spying on the two older men, instead, he walked over to the tent's door and peeled back the curtain to reveal him. The coachman's eyes stared down hardheartedly at him, his posture visibly stiffening with anger as he looked down at Aaron with an indiscernible emotion — indescribable because it was one that Aaron had never seen. The solider had manifested entirely before him, cold and reticent, but candidly enraged by the girl's death. Aaron barely recognized him, the Abraham he knew seldom letting his more callous emotions slip in front of him.

"Where is he, Aaron," the ex-confederate growled out lowly. Aaron's blinked in confusion at his adoptive patriarch. From what he could recall, he never gave any indication that he knew the Gray Man and the boy had ever met. He had questioned him at the National, but when he had, had no idea about the existence of the man until he had met Sallie. So how did he know he had met him? Or was it just merely speculation? Abraham never told him the extent of his military life, just that he wished to recant the sinful deeds, but perhaps his training had made him skilled in detecting unspoken information without much effort of interrogation on his part. Maybe, Abraham hadn't known until he saw Aaron reacting towards Sallie's broken form.

The solider inclined his head towards the boy, his stony and disquieting demeanor made Aaron shrink under his stare as if he was a mouse corned by an eagle. Finney stepped forward to protest but was stopped by Abraham's hand moving towards him to stop him all the while, never breaking eye contact with his adopted child. The doctor stopped but watched the two closely in silence.

"I can see it in your face, son," Abraham prodded his tone and expression still stern towards the boy. "So, gonna ask you again: what happened?"

For a moment, Aaron could have sworn he saw the confederate's features soften enough for Aaron to discern that the Abraham he knew still remained under the surface of the hardened soldier before him. Perhaps the man was hoping that he was merely thinking irrationally, and the Aaron had no idea what had happened or had no involvement.

Coming to that realization sent panic flooding through the boy even worse than stumbling upon the scene in the tent. Earlier this morning, he had a difficult decision to make. He had thought he had managed to avoid telling the man, that it had fluttered away into the wind, and Aaron and Abraham could have moved on with their lives. However, the difficult decision had not relented, and Aaron found himself this time, unable to avoid answering or even postponing the truth.

This time, there was nothing he could do but pick a crossroad to traverse down. His decision was perilous though; it was either tell Abraham what had happened, and witness the soldier finally liberate himself from Abraham's moral barricade, or try and choose the road that Abraham had tried to walk Aaron down, and use the law to get justice. He could tell Finney who he was, and the lawmen of Atchison would no doubt bring him in to stand trial; an easy conviction and noose. The same protocol that Abraham had tried when they were after his father for his mother's death. But this time, the decision was his.

He wanted revenge for Sallie — it could have been him on the cot.

But he also wanted Abraham.

"Please tell me, Aaron," the coachman whispered to him, imploring him to disclose what they both knew— or what Abraham thought he did.

Finney, almost undetectable, shook his head at Aaron; pleading him silently not to.

The boy gulped, looking at Abraham, mutely begging him to not force him to make a choice no matter how much hatred he held for Bauchau. However, the soldier did not acquiesce and waited with a hand now resting on his Griswold— itching to use on the atrocious old man.

"Tell me."

Aaron felt tears prick out the corner of his eyes, stinging and blinding him as he hung his head away from Abraham's visage. The blonde-haired kid could still feel his eyes on him, scrutinizing him with each passing second he withheld and it weighed him as if he had ghostly hands pushing down on his shoulders, trying to bury him into the sand of his own guilt.

With as much strength as he could muster, but despondent tears streaming down his face, he looked to his guardian and finally gave his answer.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28  
Once Upon A Time in the West  
Part 10  
 _Ricochet_**

* * *

**Outworld,**

**Present**

With each passing moment the gunslinger stayed silent, the more it resonated with him how little choice he had. Regardless, the ex-Earthreamler stared back at the possessed form of the cupbearer with an unswayed disposition to her proposal.

Meanwhile, the blue-eyed specter inside the vessel of the baker waited for the reply to the announced deal. The pulled smirk at the corner of the girl's mouth irritated the gunman far past his already depleted limits as he mulled over the pros and cons of the poltergeist's proposition. They both knew he was going to take it, but his implacable stubbornness still persuaded him to consider otherwise, just to vex the smug entity; though a dull roar, it was.

There was really no other option, though. The being, Chaeomi, knew that his fragile guilt for the girl was enough to secure his loyalty through the promise she bestowed before him.

Information for security.

She would give Rain's location in exchange for more time for Norah.

At first, Erron didn't enjoy the vagueness in regards to what 'time for Norah' meant, but the entity affirmed they would have enough. Still, without being able to pull further information from Chaeomi, it didn't sit right. But in the end, taking the deal would benefit both of them, and as far as the mercenary could detect, there were seemingly no drawbacks. He could kill Rain and Norah could have protection for a short while as they both had time to conceive a better plan.

Although, after trying to come up with other plans earlier, he doubted they would be able to even after buying her some time. Perhaps then, he could grant her welcomed minutes that would postpone whatever fate was in store for her, even if her destiny was irrevocable. Maybe it would be enough of a reprieve for her, a gratifying short bliss of quiet mind until she herself was willing to face the deathly stride to her demise. However, he despised thinking so morosely — especially when the ghost was offering peace, not oblivion. He couldn't understand what it had in mind but could sense that it wouldn't be wise to double-cross him. They both knew the only guarantee for his compliance, was a fair trade. So, _whatever_ its plan was, would help Norah.

There was also another thing to consider — what _he_ was to gain.

Black knew that Kotal would be enraged about his displayed torture for the masses. The Kahn's guard knew it had undermined the authority of the Emperor's lieutenants and questioned their power altogether. The strength of the bodyguards had to be unquestionable, they were the Emperor's brutal hands, even if they were not necessarily off-limits to the rules. However, the bounty hunter had no doubt that his name was being ridiculed by the bystanders at the Coliseum that had seen his face. Even if they didn't know what he was being whipped for, knew that for sure his reputation was in question and whether Kotal would keep him employed or not when he got back to the palace. But if he could promise Rain's location, he knew he could get on the Kahn's good side — whether he was being mocked by plebeians or not. He could always rebuild his name, he had done it before, even if it was tedious and bloody work. Not that he ever minded getting his hands dirty.

Still, as he looked over the baker he had wronged, he knew that the spirit already had its answer; the deal wasn't for him, really, but for her. He owed it to Norah to give her the best chance that she could have, and his knife simply wouldn't have done the job no matter how good his intentions had been.

Whatever it was, the ghost had secured a loop-hole that he hadn't seen, and despite his aversion to being subterfuge into a deal that he wanted nothing to do with, he had to accept it to try and sponge away his darkened conscious, created from his mistreatment of the cupbearer.

"Alright then," the outlaw nodded firmly, his bitter countenance fixated on the spectar with resentful animosity. "Where is he?"

The poltergeist masquerading as the baker smiled priggishly, almost as if it hadm't been surprised by his acceptance; his rejection never in question.

Norah's hand came up to cradle the side of the marksman's face with mock tenderness. He recoiled, unhappy about being forced to willingly serve a presence he couldn't stand, and for a moment, maybe because the baker was in front of him, considered himself in her shoes and that it must have been how she felt when she first arrived at the palace to serve Tama. The revelation piled more guilt upon his already heaping load.

"I will honor my agreement," Chaeomi pledged. Her neon blue eyes twinkled brighter, a cryptic and cognizant smile forming as she patted the side of his face gently. "Don't you worry."

Erron grabbed the hand from his face, pushing it away in exasperation. "Keep your hands to yourself," he scowled, his tone harsh and unapologetic.

Norah's head tilted to the side and unabashed gleam in her haunted eyes. "I thought Erron Black _liked_ when women touched him," Chaeomi teased. Her eyebrows furrowed as she gave the guard a satirical look of confusion. "Or did I misread you incorrectly?"

"You gonna _misread_ the bullet I put in your head if you don't quit jawin' and make your point?" Black shot back sourly.

The puppeteered woman rose an eyebrow towards the ill-tempered cowboy. "You mean _Norah's_ head?" Chaeomi pointed out with a genuine animated laugh. "Is it really so hard for you to remember she is here? Even when she is standing right in front of you? I don't think she would forgive you for putting a gun to her head _twice_."

The gunman's jaw clenched painfully at her playful reprimand. Did this thing know _everything_ about him?

A sudden look of realization came across the woman's features. "Oh, yes in regards to Norah. I feel it would be best not to inform her of our discussion. I fear, after coming to know her, it would be best if she did not know of our meeting. Wouldn't you agree?" Chaeomi laughed at him, a smirk adorned on her false face. "Of course you do. We both know what happens when you tell the truth."

Black's eyebrows rose minutely before narrowing in contempt at her patronizing suggestion; speaking to him as if he was a child that had no sway in the matter. If the damn demon knew a thing about him — as it liked to boast — then it would know he would consort the very opposite of what was suggested. He was stubborn and did things his own goddamn way — the way _he_ saw fit. If he didn't want to tell Norah, then it would be on _his_ terms alone, not because of some mocking and irritating puff of air. Just because it was aware of a few shielded details from his buried past, did not mean that it was an authority on what it could dictate.

"I'll do what I damn well please and I'm done accommodating your playin' mood," he growled defensively. "So either get to it or get out of her and go crawl up someone else's ass."

"You are very funny," the ghost remarked back to him, although he saw the turquoise eyes darken at him as if she had taken offense.

Erron didn't alter his disapproved disposition, though, and seeing that he wouldn't be swayed, the ghost gave him a sympathetic smile, almost as if it was silently apologizing for wasting his time. The possessed baker stepped towards him and pointedly stared at him.

"I will meet you both at the palace and conduct my half of our bargain. I would proceed immediately, I do not know how long I can keep the symbiotes. I've never tried two at once. Should be... _interesting._ "

The marksman's eyes narrowed in confusion at her statement and before he could question what she had meant, Norah's eyes dimmed back to their evergreen hue and she lurched forward unsteadily towards him. The baker let out a retained exhale of air as if she had been holding it all along, as she collided with Black and he instinctively caught her. He felt his whipped back twinge as he maneuvered to steady her, but her clumsy feet stepped in the sand aimlessly as her hand came to brace her forehead. With his hands holding her arms in place, the marksman waited for her to collect her wits, but instead with each passing second, she looked as if she was becoming more and more disorientated.

The woman pressed the palm of her hand to her head as if hoping the pressure would dispel her nausea. "What... what happened?" she breathlessly asked him, a small groan of pain leaving her.

As she began to retain more of her balance, Black released her. He looked her over cautiously, wondering how much of the encounter she had absorbed. Had she retained anything or had she simply been kept in the dark? How would that knowledge upset her? If he was in her shoes, he knew he would have damned well been livid at the idea of some unknown entity high-jacking his body, and from his experience with her short temper, he doubted she would like knowing it either.

Or would she simply wash away her resentment for the spirit if he told her that it had planned something in her benefit? Erron chewed the inside of his cheek, somehow doubting that it would do anything else but further intensify her indignation; she would probably be even more furious that it made the decision without her consent. She was too stubborn to heed to anyone's opinion but her own and seemed to distaste others doing things in her stead. Between her stubbornness, short temper and prideful independence, he had little doubt that her flawed character would get her killed one day.

As he mused, studying her for any indication that she was other than ignorant to what occurred, he couldn't see that she had been spectating the conversation between them. The lights had turned out the moment Chaeomi had appeared, otherwise, she would have probably been screaming irately at him for making a deal without her permission, or just angry in general for being used by some other-worldly entity. However, he detected no rancor, just merely confusion from her silent and pained expression; trying to recall what had happened within the past few minutes. It was apparent that she had no idea about Chaeomi or their deal.

It left the mercenary with an internal conundrum: did he tell her, ignoring the ghost's request, or not?

The poltergeist's suggestion aside, the bounty hunter wondered if there was any point, even if the deal did involve her to some degree; it had mainly been just between Erron and Chaeomi; it wanted _him_ to say either yes or no to the agreement. Perhaps, it was best to keep it that way. Although, he did have reservations about withholding the truth from her; it would be just another thing she could tack on her list of grievances against him.

The gunslinger tapped a single rhythmic finger against the side of his leather holster. The unfortunate circumstance the ghost had drudged up reminded him well of how smoothly things went when he kept the truth hidden for too long, and what had resulted from it. However, he wasn't a child anymore, and he knew the difference and what was to be expected with more clarity. The situations were nothing more than rippled reflections, barely similar to each other on the surface yet somehow connected.

Plus, Norah also had more things to worry about at the moment —her husband— and perhaps it truly wasn't the appropriate time to elevate her already flustered emotions.

He just wouldn't tell her _now_.

If Chaeomi promised time, then he would tell her then.

It was the only way they would both be satisfied.

Still, like in Atchison when he prolonged the truth from Abraham, it didn't seem right withholding it from her and it made his stomach worm at his lack of confidence.

He shook his head slightly in disapproval with himself.

Maybe he still hadn't learned his lesson...

Her haggard breathing began to level out, returning to normal as she continued to tense from obvious rolling waves of nausea that still plagued her. Norah looked to him, seeking an explanation for her sudden sickness. He wasn't sure what she would buy, or maybe she was too discombobulated to care at the moment and any he gave would suffice.

The baker suddenly winced, her face scrunching in discomfort as she went to touch the back of her neck. When she brought her fingers down, they both noticed her fingertips had been painted red in her blood. Norah hissed, touching the spot on the back of her neck again and moaned in pain at the contact.

Erron reached for her, grabbing her lightly by the shoulder to turn her towards him. The back of her dress, near the neckline, darkened into an angry, bloody spot that concealed the new wound he couldn't see. He looked pointedly at her and wordlessly asked her for her permission to look at her skin which she gave him with a small nod.

Black pulled the material down with a single finger, exposing the upper part of her shoulder blade to reveal her skin had blistered and turned a pepperish red. The skin had peeled away in sporadic sections while the under-layer of skin bled from the open wounds. He had seen similar wounds and the only answer he could come up with is that it was a severe burn. The fact that it hadn't surfaced until Chaeomi had left, made him believe that the two were irrefutably connected. Also, it seemed as if the spot itself resembled a distorted child's handprint.

To say the least, it confused the hell out of him. If Chaeomi didn't want Norah to know about their conversation, why leave evidence?

"What is it?" Norah asked him, her voice wavering with worry.

Erron gave an airy sigh before he placed the fabric of her dress back over the wound and stepped away.

_Some parasite._

Continuing his previous train of thought, he couldn't understand the purpose of the mark, and for a brief second wondered if the small handprint was Chaeomi's way of mocking Sallie towards the gunslinger; an undesired discussion he wished never to partake in again.

Perhaps, it was a ploy aimed at his contradictory guilt by intruding on his personal life and stirring back forgotten memories. But, she had already won him over to her side, so why hurt the vessel? Maybe he was thinking too hard about it, perhaps it was nothing more than a consequence of being possessed by the demon that came with no explanation. If not for the coincidental shape of the mark, and that the ghost knew of the girl in the white dress from his past, he would have settled on the thought. Instead, he frowned heavily, coming up blank with answers.

"Black?" the girl demanded a little more flatly, waiting for his answer with impatience.

He glanced to her and then back to the spot on her dress.

Despite the mark, he refrained to tell her what had happened. He knew that she wouldn't enjoy the idea that a ghost had used her body to make conversation without her permission and left with nothing more than a burn as thanks.

_He would tell her, but just not now._

_"_ You tripped and hit your head. Knocked ya out cold and a lit candle fell on ya from the bar," the bounty hunter lied. It wasn't his best, and even he felt like kicking himself in the ass for something so mucked up, but it was the only one that instantly came up that made sense. Still, she looked at him with a dubious frown, entirely unconvinced of his explanation.

Her green eyes slanted towards the door of the establishment they were outside of and then back to him with a skeptical glower. "You are lying. _Why_ are you lying?"

Black felt the corner of his mouth tugged briefly to the side before it dropped into a pensive frown from behind his face mask. Disappointed yes, but he figured she wouldn't have believed him— after all, she never believed anything he ever said.

He sighed, placing his hands on his hips. "Why you askin' me if you know everything?"

The woman opened her mouth wordlessly before her lips pressed into a hard line, her brows furrowed in contemplation as she tried her best to recall the past few minutes. The cupbearer pondered in silence as Erron studied her expression. She was clueless as if the past moments under possession had never transpired. He could tell it frustrated her that she couldn't give him an answer but knew the one he provided was not what had happened. She sighed at him, tenaciously unaccepting of his suspicious explanation.

"How could I do such a thing? I doubt I was _that_ clumsy," she pointed out, her eyes narrowing at him distrustfully.

He gave a small scoff, one more akin to an airy chuckle, as he rose an eyebrow at her and berated: "You sure? We've both seen you hit your jaw in front of the Kahn."

The corner of the baker's mouth tugged bitterly to the side at him, both of them recalling the incident when she tripped on the hem of her skirt and catapulted face first into the Kahn's table. Black could still hear Ferra cackling at her in his head.

Still, she shook her head at him. "I still do not trust that is what happened. I deserve to know."

"I told you already," Black protested stoically.

She clenched her jaw, her expression turning sour the more he persisted with his deception. "What is it that you cannot tell me?"

He huffed indignantly. "You tell me."

Norah gave him a pointed stare, angrily beseeching him. "I am asking _you_."

Once again, he debated against telling her the truth, despite both of them already knowing his lie wouldn't be swallowed down no matter how much he argued. They both knew that she was aware of his hesitance to withhold the truth, even if she seemed more confused than irate that he continued to do so. Even though her mistrust of him had dwindled slightly since leaving the Coliseum, he could tell that she detested that he was still being dishonest with her.

But, they both knew that he wasn't going to budge, and Erron could tell the revelation was sinking in with her as her face darkened at him more and more with each passing silent second. He briefly thought back to Abraham and wondered if the soldier would have hated him with the same caliber as her. Erron knew that it was no contest though, he feared the soldier more than he feared the wrath of the female baker. They were both different though, each of them able to deliver the same amount of trauma in different forms. Abraham's by wrath, her's by playing to his guilt.

The gunslinger rolled his shoulders and frowned as he turned his back to her, walking in the direction of the palace. "I ain't arguing with you all night. So when you come to your senses and remember, let me know."

"Why can you not say? Are you really so cowardly!?" she called out to him suddenly, and he could feel her heated eyes on the back of his head.

The gunslinger sighed repentantly. Why couldn't he simply just tell her? Was it for him, or was it truly for her own sake? It didn't take long for him to arrive at the answer — it was for her. It was better she remained uninvolved at the present moment. Perhaps the ghost did have a point now that he thought about it. Maybe, it wasn't merely an instruction, but an idea, despite that it went against everything he learned in Atchison.

But still, there was one glaring enigma.

Perhaps the purpose of the mark was for him to eventually tell her what had happened, despite that Chaeomi had told him not to. It gave him no escape; he would have to tell her about the conversation no matter his objections. His eyebrows hardened into a firm line when he connected the past and present and realized that the ghost had been toying with him.

Chaeomi knew what he would do — fall back to his old ways— and used the opportunity to mock him by placing a mark on the baker's back— the same location Sallie's afflictions had been. Maybe the ghost hated him more than he hated it after all, and couldn't help but dig harder into the wound.

Norah would know, and just like Atchison, it started with Erron withholding the truth for a short time.

His lip curled up from behind his face-mask irately.

_That eavesdropping son of a bitch._

For a second, he reconsidered and thought of telling Norah the entire situation; the deal, the ghost, why he had lied. In all honesty, though, he wasn't even sure he could spare the energy no matter how much he wanted to; the pieces had already been set. He would have to pay for his lack of foresight in the future and proceed as planned.

So instead of answering her question, despite how much he wanted to, picked up his feet and carried on.

He heard the female servant huff behind but heard her approaching footsteps from behind; catching up with him. As she came up beside him, walking next to him in a mirrored pace, Erron saw her reach to the back of her neck and go to touch the burn once again. Her hand came back in front of her face, and he noticed that she didn't seem to be bleeding as before; either it had stopped on its own or was soaked by the blue fabric of her gown. Her eyes crinkled into a hard stare at the blood on her fingers, still questioning the validity of Black's statement, but after a moment of once again coming up blank, she sighed and wiped the blood off by brushing her hand against her thigh, dirtying the dress.

His eyes lingered on the smeared red line before he looked up, keeping his eyes peeled for any semblance of blue colored eyes among the early morning passers-by. For the most part, the walked in silence. She no longer questioned him about what had occurred though he could still see it was in the back of her mind, constantly biting at her like a persistent gnat. Fortunately for his half-cooked up lie, she had more precarious things that dwell on and seemed to push it aside to make way for the more pressing of matters.

As the sun began to creep closer to dawn, the bright clementine hue spilling over the myriad of buildings, they knew it was just more time passing before she encountered her new husband.

Black caught a flash of gold, reflected slightly by the morning sun, and looked towards Norah to see her fumbling with the simple gold band Hulin had given her after his impromptu kiss. It was almost as if they had been both thinking of it because her face set into a firm scowl as she juggled the ring in her palm; almost as if the jewelry was burning her the more she touched it. He hadn't seen it since the Colesium's grungy hospital, but as they came closer to the Kahn's Palace, she brought it out, as if acknowledging that her fate hadn't been a nightmare, but reality itself.

Still, she refused to place it on her finger, as if still fighting against the horrible situation. Her candid rebelliousness couldn't last forever, though, and it seemed she was aware of it as well. Her fist tightened around the ring, her knuckles turning white as she tried to crush the band in her palm. A shaky sigh escaped from beneath her lips, her eyes blinking rapidly as her steps began to slow with each passing footfall towards the towering structure where she thought death awaited her.

Meanwhile, Black slowed his stride to accommodate her—as eager to get to there as she was— as his eyes also looked towards the palace on the other side of the marketplace with pessimism. The mercenary wasn't sure what exactly would occur when they reached their destination, even if he had flimsy premonitions about what they should expect.

However, since his agreement with the ghost, he had to admit, he found himself more in the dark. He knew what was coming for him, and it was in the form of an angry Kahn that would strip his allowances and make his life miserable until he brought Rain to the palace as penitence. Her, however, there was even less clarity. Chaeomi had mentioned the symbiotes, and it didn't take much for the guard to know that she was referencing to Ferra/Torr. Still, he failed to connect what the idiotic, brutish pair had anything to do with Norah's predicament.

The only thing the Outworld assassin could think of was that the symbiotes would be her savors. He knew briefly of Ferra's infatuation with maintaining a friendship with the woman. He merely thought it was simply because she liked her bread at the dinners, but he faintly recalled the homicidal dwarf looking at the baker with a strange fondness. Maybe it was nothing more than a friendly professional relationship between cupbarer and guard, and albeit he didn't see much of their interactions with each other, but perhaps Ferra was lonely and pathetic enough to think the baker thought of her as a friend. At least, that was the best impression he got from a few momentary glances.

He wondered though if Chaeomi could possess both of the brutes, would they be sent to kill Hulin. He scoffed inwardly at the preposterous — but tempting — idea. Black suspected that the ghost would know better that the Kahn would find Ferra/Torr's unnecessary dispatch of the palace torturer punishable, and he doubted it wouldn't be something as ill-conceived by the smugness displayed by Chaeomi. Although, he doubted Norah wouldn't mind seeing Torr crush Hulin for her. Even he had to admit, it would be nice to see.

Lost in his thoughts, the usually acute gunslinger failed to notice how the woman suddenly stopped in her tracks as they came close to the palace wall. A couple paces ahead, he turned to see her standing in the morning sun pale as a sheet and silent as the grave except for the shuddering breaths that came from her lips. Black turned back to the wall and found the source of her sudden trepidation.

Hulin stood outside the wall as if he had been waiting all this time for them to finally come around the corner. From the tired look in the normally polished Edenian's face, he had been stationed there all night, waiting for the mercenary to deliver his unwilling, future bride to the palace. He smiled towards the pair, and Black couldn't tell if it was because he was relieved to finally see them after a long night of waiting, or happy his wife was finally before him.

The palace interrogator walked towards them, his stride as confident and contented as a vulture finding carrion, as he placed his long sleeved arms behind his back, locking his fingers together, while the mercenary and the baker stood and waited for him to reach them.

"I am about to die, perhaps would be the best time to be honest with me or just shoot me here."

Erron furrowed his eyebrows, contemplating if he had heard her words correctly or if it has been nothing more than his imagination. The gunslinger turned towards her, staring at her pointedly to repeat what he thought he heard her say.

The baker looked to him, blinking back tears before she suddenly shook her head. Silently, she scowled as if she was reprimanding herself for what she had uttered and that he had heard her say it. It had been an admittance to her weakness — of how scared she was — and she berated herself for allowing the mercenary to hear her announce it.

He couldn't judge her, no matter how much he wanted to tell her that what she said was gutless. Erron understood her situation, and besides, she knew what she had said was wrong as well. It wouldn't solve her problem to show her belly to Hulin and there was no easy way out no matter how simple it would be to just grant her wish of a mercy killing.

He didn't say anything, though, and instead placed a hand on one his revolvers as Hulin's steps began to grow louder towards them. With the man of her torment walking towards them, and Ferra/Torr nowhere to be seen, he wondered if he would have to get involved after all.

A small pang of anger began to rise in his chest like steam from a kettle. Chaeomi was supposed to aid Norah, that was the deal, but the brutes — or Chaeomi — were missing. He had expected them to be present the minute they got to the palace— or how he had interpreted it by it telling them to move quickly.

The grandiose Edenian approached his wife with an effusive smile as he rose his chin towards Norah. She visibly fought to condone herself before him, refusing to let him see her shrinking in fear as he ignored Black and came to stand in front of her.

"Hello my dear," Hulin cajoled with almost-convincing tenderness.

Erron couldn't help but crinkle his nose in disgust beneath his facemask at Hulin's false benevolence. There had been a subtle avaricious quality hidden under his saccharine words that rubbed him the wrong way. Black knew why, but refused to admit that it was because it reminded him of the gray man; the same one that had used the same false friendliness to lure him.

The 150-year-old cowboy refused to rethink the horrid memory, even though it was hard to abolish the odious elderly from his thoughts — there was simply nothing else that it reminded him of besides Bauchau. He hated it. Hated the way it tugged at the already raveled seams of a tight-sewn tapestry that he had done his damnedest to keep hidden in the crawlspace of his welcomed forgotten past. There was no denying the similarity, though, and he supposed he would have come to the same conclusion if Chaeomi hadn't brought up the crooked man. However, the difference this time, no matter the parallel, and with Chaeomi being a no show, it was now Norah's fight, and she was unknowingly in Erron's shoes.

The baker must have sensed the same predatory under-layer hidden within his sugary words because suddenly her face flushed red and her eyes shot narrowly at him. Dread was replaced with rage, as she stepped towards him and flicked the gold wedding band towards him, the small piece of jewelry landing squarely in the chest. Still, Hulin didn't react, nor looked offended, almost as if he had always expected it to be the next thing to follow.

Her lip curled at his unresponsiveness, and she stepped forward with a finger raised towards him. "I am not your _dear_ , and I am not your _wife!_ "

Hulin simply flashed an impassive smile in reply to her venomous scowl and proclamation. The Edenian curtly cleared his throat, before he unhurriedly reached into the sand to recover the discarded ring. He looked at it coolly before rubbing his thumb over the outside layer of the smooth band.

"I expect you to behave with more decorum the moment we set foot inside the palace," he reprimanded with a demure tone. His eyes flashing pointedly towards her, a silent warning to heed his next words. "Or... I can _make_ you behave. Would you prefer that, Norah?"

The torturer's words could imply any type of punishment, even if he didn't list them blatantly; he suggested he could do anything he deemed fit depending on the opposition she set. It was a clear cut warning to obey or else.

Black thought of Hulin's threat as pathetic, buying obedience through fear. However, he had to stop himself and admonish his rejection when he realized he had tried to do the same thing towards the baker. Black had belittled her, used her fear of him to gain his goods. When she failed to deliver, he came to her tavern and won his next delivery by intimidating her; towering over her in the dark like some monster in the shadows. The corner of his lip tugged bitterly to the side. Although the same, at least he wasn't a rumored cannibal who needed to buy a wife. Perhaps, it made him less than Erron, even if they had done the same to her.

The woman stepped forward, standing squarely up to her contemptible spouse. Raising her chin to him, she scanned her eyes from his face, then downward, then sharply to his eyes in a challenging inclination.

"Then _make_ me," she declared with bold assertion.

Although Erron could see the semblance of fear still ever-present within her, evident by her fidgeting palms that closed and opened sporadically, her declaration had been uttered with all honesty. She refused to be rolled over by her unforeseen circumstances as she had done in the past; accepting them without objection. Having been a victim to it so many times before now, either by Tama, The People's Court, and mostly him, Norah seemed to finally have little patience for it any longer. Her resolve was as stony and eternal as a marble statue; it wouldn't dissolve dispute whatever brutal onslaught was presented. After all, she couldn't afford it any longer.

Black looked to the Edenian, curious of his reaction to the baker's bluster. Once again, the gunman noticed a lack of a disappointment or awe, as if he had already perceived that it would have been her answer all along. He merely smiled briefly at her candid bullheadedness, before he acknowledged her statement with a yawn.

"I do not understand why you have such objections, Norah," the palace torturer confessed, his tone dejected by her ire. "If anything, you should be grateful for the life I can provide you. You will no longer have to worry about Tama or her intentions for you. I know how much you detest her. Am I such a bad alternative? Certainly being mine is far better than being Tama's."

A sharp look of annoyance blazed across her face at his aloofness, and she stepped forward, a finger squarely in his chest with enough pressure to bruise his sternum. "I see no difference. You are both equally as vile."

The corner of Hulin's mouth lifted briefly in discontent at her words as she pushed at his chest, moving him back slightly before she took a step backward. The Edenian sighed at her, shaking his head disappointingly at her as if she had failed some hidden exam he had been conducting without her knowledge; hoping for a different result.

He reached forward, and without permission, cupped the side of her neck to pull her closer. She visibly recoiled, shuddering in disgust as he forced her closer to him so they were chest to chest. An arm wrapped around her waist, holding her against him despite her avid disgust. "Depending on you, you will find that I am far better, or _far_ worse than Tama," Hulin assured with frankness.

Black had taken a step forward to intervene but found he didn't have to when Norah's hands came up and pushed against both his face and chest, shoving him forcefully away with an angered grunt. "How dare you put your hands on me!"

Hulin eyes glinted with amusement at her, his hands interlocking behind him once again. "I can _dare_ many things."

Norah fumed, repulsed by the sensual inclination slithering in his words. "Contract or no contract, you have no right."

He chuckled in response. "I believe that is precisely how it works with the People's Court. You are still Tama's servant, and you will be my wife when you walk through the door. You are owned no matter which side of the palace walls you stand on. However, my side is more preferable then Tama's."

She scoffed at him with indignation. "Your counterfeit paperwork means nothing to me and I fail to see how you are both so different. You both see me as nothing but a whore no matter whose contract I am on."

A horrified expression crossed his face, deceitfully sincere as he shook his head. "I have no intention of raping you. Was that what you were expecting me to do? Oh, my dear, I'm afraid you are gravely mistaken. The rumors you must have heard to think so!"

"Do not take me for a fool — that is the least courtesy you can give me," she snarled.

A smooth obsidian eyebrow lifted at her as he titled his head minutely to the side. "My dear, is that why you are being so abrasive?" A single hand shot to cover his chest, avowing candidly as he swore, "I had no intention of forcing myself on you. I was to allow _you_ to _sanctify_ the marriage when you saw fit. However long that may be, I look _forward_ to that day."

Norah's face crimped in disgust at him, her eyes wide at his absurd pledge. At the same moment, Erron couldn't help but scoff at his ludicrous assertion, finding his declaration flabbergastingly pompous and yet idiotic. He doubted the headstrong woman would ever willingly _sanctify_ their bogus marriage, especially considering the clear abhorrence she felt towards the Edenian.

However, as he eyeballed the baker and the palace interrogator more thoroughly, the gunslinger detected a cloaked malevolence behind his projected amity. Years of making deals, signing contracts had schooled him in detecting bullshit and false intentions just from body language and searching for the right incriminating articulations. There had always been a reason why he seldom said little during negotiations, and one of the various reasons he wore a mask during talks with future employers, was to fool those who were buying his services. He presented himself as an indecipherable stone; unable to be read by those trying to and conducted business with indifference. The mystery to his real thoughts and intentions, and how he felt towards whoever was employing him, would always be to himself and he would let them fill in whatever they wanted to assume.

Hulin, on the other hand, was not as skilled as Erron was in hiding his thoughts and motivations, and he could call his bluff the moment he proclaimed she would eventually be the one to want to consummate.

The outlaw suspected his tool of choice would be blackmail. His presumptuous demeanor was enough evidence for Erron to come to that assumption. The Edenian carried himself around her like he already had his ace in the hole long before they had arrived at the palace. Granted, there wasn't much he knew too much about the Kahn's questioner, but his gut wormed enough for the marksman to come to that conclusion. The baker's husband had been confident about everything beyond just being naturally arrogant. In fact, he seemed even more so by his elevated cocky manner. He expected her to be adverse and instead of feeling rejected, pretended to be obtuse to why she would reject him; falsely offended she didn't want him. Black, however, could see it had been nothing more than a masquerade. Hulin knew how she would react, and beneath his seemingly organic reactions, behaved as if everything was going according to his design, and he couldn't be more thrilled by it.

It was clear to the mercenary.

Hulin wanted someone to break. Someone that wouldn't so easy — he wanted a challenge.

If she submitted to him, it would mean he won.

And then after that, knowing the rumors, there would be no use of her.

Black wasn't alone in his wild theory, even if she didn't connect the dots quite yet, knew he was full of shit as well. The baker let out a condescending laugh in the Edenian's direction as soon as her honest repulsion dissipated, and was replaced with derisive indignation.

"I am _not_ your whore," Norah seethed, her lips curled up with teeth bared like a wolf. "And I am not as stupid as you think I am."

He cocked an assured smile at one of the corner's of his mouth before it fell into a flat, pressed line. "Believe me when I say, I didn't buy you because I think you are stupid."

Black's eyes landed on the Edenian's hand, the same one that remained concealed behind his back during their conversation when the sun glinted against something concealed in his shirt-sleeve and in his hand. The Edenian didn't keep it a mystery for long as he brought his hand around and the knife that Erron had given her slide from his sleeve and into his waiting palm.

The ex-cupbearer took an instinctive step back but lifted her chin spite at him as her hand went to her back, to the black cloth she had tucked the mercenary's knife in, and found nothing hidden.

Erron's eyes slid over to the knife in Hulin's hand and then back to meet his eyes. The man didn't look at him dead-on, but he could see that he regarded him out of the corner of his eye with chiding amusement; Hulin knew where she had gotten the knife from. How he had known she had it was a different matter. Either he had already known about her proclivity with knives as her go-to weapon, or it was just coincidence he had felt it, but there had been a reason for him to wrap his arms around her to pull her in an embrace; either to be annoyingly impertinent or because he assumed she had a knife and meant to disarm her.

He answered Black's internal inquiry with a grin and castigated to her with an apathetic tone: "However, do not assume you are smarter than _me._ "

Her jaw clenched at his subtle insult; offended by his clandestine but ironically blatant implication. However, despite how she took offense to him calling her simple, the baker visibly stiffened in fear at him once she saw the knife; the realization she was now vulnerable without Black's knife starting to sink in little by little.

"Tama warned me — several times — how you like knives," Hulin informed, his tone satirical. "I suppose I was wise to heed her words this time."

Perhaps if it was not unbeknownst to her, she would have found comfort in Chaeomi's deal, but since she was unaware of it, she stared at the Edenian with dread as her last option for defense has been plucked away.

Speaking of Chaeomi's deal, the irate gunslinger scanned the nearby walls and alley of the marketplace for the beastly visage of his two symbiotic Kahn's guards. However, as the meeting between husband and wife continued to carry on, he found himself enraged. At this point, with Ferra/Torr a no-show, it was safe to assume that the ghost had failed to meet its end of the bargain. There would be no help coming for Norah that he had begrudgingly had stooped low to achieve. The ex-Earthrealmer wasn't sure what aggravated him more about being double-crossed: that he had his time wasted or that Norah was back to square one.

His thoughts were interrupted suddenly when Hulin held out the knife to Black in an upward palm; returning it back to its rightful owner. Erron didn't make an attempt at first to reach for it, standing uniformly as he had been during the entire encounter. The Edenian's conceited demeanor never wavered as he kept his eyes trained on Norah, and waited for Black to retrieve what they all knew was his. There was a belittling quality aimed at Black that had been well-intended for him to understand as he stood there, and it grew Erron's exasperation more for the man the longer the interrogator's hand held out to him.

Eventually, the provoked gunslinger stepped forward and grabbed the knife, and it only then did the Edenian glance at him. With the knife withdrawn from his hand, Hulin regarded Black with hubris; curling his lip at the Kahn's guard with cynicism. Erron didn't falter, or indicate was enraged at the look — it had been the only time the man didn't try to give a phony appearance. The marksman simply rose an incredulous eyebrow towards him; Hulin must have truly been stupid to think he would be intimidated by him.

"You may leave now. You have done your job, mercenary," Hulin remarked with a chafe tone. The man's dark eyes sharpened at the outlaw as bitter as vinegar. "And if you have _any_ wish to remain employed, you would do well to stay clear of my wife."

The words rolled as bitingly as glass over the mercenary's skin and Black visibly bristled with anger. Where did he get the idea that he could threaten or order him like some ill-breed dimwit? Did he forget who he was talking to? Perhaps the pretentious Edenian needed a lesson, one that the gunslinger would be happy to teach.

The Outworld assassin tucked the large knife into the side of his belt, his stern eyes never once leaving Hulin's as he squared his shoulders and walked closer to the man.

"Maybe you wanna repeat what you just said. Preferably with a better choice of words," the gunslinger growled, his hands moving to lean on the handles of his revolvers.

The Edenian showed no penitence and regarded Black's domineering countenance with callous indifference. "I have no trouble repeating myself: stay away from my wife."

The gunman sneered from behind his mask, and despite that Hulin couldn't see it, the minute narrow of his brown eyes indicated to Black that Hulin knew how he was regarding him. "Why? Will it get your stomach churning?"

The interrogator scoffed. "So you can not give her any more knives," he explained with a clipped emphasis.

"Oh, does it make you nervous?" Black mocked with false worry.

"Not at all," he shrugged as he regarded the marksman. His eyes looked to Black's boots before back to his eyes with scornful regard. "And I am not petrified by a whipped Earthrealmer, either.

Erron's hand tightened over the handle of his revolver. "Whipped or not, I will still bury you."

Hulin clicked his tongue at the mercenary. "I believe you need the Kahn's approval first. So don't bark at me with empty threats, dog."

The gunslinger's hand lifted, dragging the revolver halfway out of his holster before Norah's hand shot to his chest and stopped him. The baker didn't regard him and simply stepped in front of Black, removing her hand from his chest plates in the process, as her eyes narrowed acrimoniously at her husband. "You do not get to dictate what I can or cannot do."

The marksman turned his attention away from Hulin, his eyes on the back of the baker's head as she stepped between them. Her action had genuinely suprised him, and he wasn't sure how to make of it. There was a part of him that didn't like that she was fighting his battle for him, he didn't need her help, but there was also a part of him that respected her taking the intiative to redirect the conversation back to husband and wife, and leave him out of it.

Hulin and Erron glanced at each other heatdily, coming to a silent standstill, before the Edenian finally disregarded their conversation to regard Norah instead. Her spouse pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, his eyes squinting as he yawned tiredly. "My dear, I am tired. Can we stop with this foolishness and finally retire?"

Norah scoffed at him, derisive to his complaint; she didn't care about his childish request. Her eyes hardened at the man, standing steadfast and declared: "I am _not_ yours."

Hulin let out a disappointing sigh escape at the same moment he blinked his eyes lazily; his patience wearing thin. "You _are_."

The baker regarded him with staunch stubbornness, almost as if she believed the more she declined his orders, the quicker he would realize his mistake and revoke it. The Edenian rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand, and Black couldn't tell if the baker was giving him a headache or he just had one in general.

The headstrong woman ignored him and gave a disdainful scoff. "I think I will choose the executioner's block instead of your bed. Do what you will, but I will not take another willing step."

The baker spat at the Edenians shoes before she curtly turned on her heels and walked away from both men; walking in an aimless direction towards the unpopulated marketplace. Black watched her, his eyes noting her stiff posture as she clenched her fists and walked as fast as her pace would allow; trying to appear reserved despite the marksman could see her hesitant of having her back to Hulin.

Erron scratched the side of his neck his fingernails, a small smirk tugging out the corner of his mouth for the briefest of moments when he noticed the Edenian bristle at her sudden departure. The interrogator kept his eyes trained on the woman, but acknowledged him with a biting order: "I believe you were demanded by the court to bring her to the palace, not in front of its gates. So fetch, dog."

Black let out a flippant scoff before sneering at him. "Make me."

The Edenian sucked air through his gritted teeth; almost as if the answer had physically pained him. It looked as if he wanted to say something, but ignored the mercenary and rubbed the side of his temple with his index finger, pressing circles into the skin to alleviate his headache. "Then go be somewhere else."

Black had begun to walk away from him, ignoring his last barbed remark; silently signaling to the man he was more than done talking to him. Still, he kept alert on the married couple behind him. He only made it a few steps before he heard the unmistakable high-pitched cackle of Ferra behind him.

Erron turned, stopping in his tracks, as he watched the two Kahn's guards come into view from the marketplace. Behind them, Torr dragged a large rope net with a bundle of bloody, but still breathing future cadavers; they only needed to be alive enough to get beheaded the next day. Norah had stopped in her tracks when she heard the small white-haired girl upon Torr's massive shoulders yell 'bread lady' fondly to her.

Black looked upon the duo with pensive disappointment, unsure if the lack of blue color in their eyes was because Chaeomi had done her part in getting them there, or they had been heading in their direction to begin with. Regardless, it ironically relaxed him to see the idiotic pair finally.

Norah glanced back to Hulin and then to Ferra and Torr, the cogs of a possible alternative solution forming; the one that he suspected the ghost had thought of. Use Ferra/Torr for protection. They liked her bread enough to do so, and with those two, it was all she needed.

The baker smiled in the two's direction, making her way towards them and away from the Edenian began walking in her direction.

Speaking of which, wanting to see his reaction, Black turned his attention to the palace torturer... and frowned instantly at what he saw.

Black hadn't really expected anything in fact, nothing more than the back of the man's head, but instead found himself staring into Chaeomi's blue eyes, now inhabiting the Edenian. He naturally fumed seeing the entity again, he hated it, but cocked his head at it, as if silently inquiring what it was playing at.

Erron noticed the back of the man's shirt, similar to where blood had stained Norah's dress, began to darken as a wet spot emerged suddenly while the ghost winked at him.

Before the marksman could answer his inquiry if the mark was purposeful or coincidental, Chaeomi steered Hulin straight towards the baker in a full sprint.

Despite that Black knew that the entity was full-filling its side of the bargain, though confusingly— he thought she would remain in Ferra/Torr —he felt his nerves spark in alarm at the way Hulin relentlessly raced towards the baker, moving with intense determination and refusing to slow the closer he got to her.

He realized why a second too late when the baker turned, hearing the man's approach, and let out a pained grunt when Hulin collided forcefully into her, knocking her to the ground harshly. Erron began walking determinedly in their direction, and although wouldn't admit it, anxious by the abrupt attack from the ghost; he had assumed that it wasn't going to harm her.

His pace quickened towards them when the man suddenly flipped her to her back before the woman could balk out her furious complaint, wrapped his fingers around her messy bun, and forced her face with brutal pressure into the sand. The baker immediately bucked and fought, alternating from grabbing his hands to bracing them by both sides of her head to lift herself from the ground.

In retaliation, Hulin/Chaeomi straddled the woman's back and used its weight to keep her pinned underneath. His hands never relented despite Norah's muffled screams of protest, trying to free herself while the man held her as placidly as a mountain lion waiting for the deer it had by the neck to die. The baker screamed incoherently before Black heard the woman cough underneath, struggling to breathe with the sand suffocating her. The more she thrashed, the harder he pushed her face into the ground, and the more she fought for air the more she swallowed sand.

Hulin was trying to kill her — at least, that was what Chaeomi wanted Ferra/Torr to think. It worked, hell the entity sold it so well that even Erron had wondered if it was a good enough excuse for him to get away with killing him. But he didn't have to, the symbiotes did the work for him.

Ferra had yelled something that Black didn't catch, but when it was followed by Torr's enraged roar, he figured it was something along the same lines; both of them furious seeing Hulin trying to kill the one person that gave them the time of day besides the Kahn. Much like the Kahn too, they protected their friends fiercely.

"You no hurt Bread Lady!"

Hulin, or rather Chaeomi, didn't look up when the symbiotes came towards them, nor when Torr swung the net with a single arm high over his head before bringing it around to collide into the Edenian like a cascading boulder.

A spray of blood and a massive discombobulated set of pained groaning and yells came from the bag the moment the net hit Hulin. Black could swear it almost covered the sound of snapping bones as the man was catapulted back. Hulin landed feet away on his back, letting out a painful caterwaul as Norah rose her head to breath, seemingly unscratched from the net.

She gasped for air, oblivious to Torr's feet in front of her as she wiped the sand from her face. Meanwhile, the Edenian moaned in pain, grasping at his deformed arm that began to swell as he cradled it to his chest. Black also noticed his left leg bent at an unnatural angle, the joint akimbo outwards from its normal position.

Meanwhile, Erron's eyes left the injured man to focus on his fellow cohorts and the baker as he lowered the pistol that he had tried removing from his holster twice that night. He blinked, looking down at the hand wrapped around the handle of the revolver with confusion; he hadn't even realized he reached for it...

"Why Huley try and hurt Bread Lady!"

Black's attention re-fixed back onto Norah and Ferra/Torr, allowing him to pause his internal debate if him reaching for the gun had been something else or just natural reflex.

The baker coughed, a hand swiping across her mouth as she brushed away more sand. The woman rose shakily to her feet, and Erron wasn't sure if it was because of the sudden ambush, or because Torr was feet from her. Regardless, the ex-cupbearer let out a shuddered breath before casting an evil eye towards Hulin.

"Because I would not go with him, Ferra," Norah answered, turning her gaze back the smaller girl.

The white-haired girl gave a disgusted scoff. "Why Bread Lady have to go with Yucky Man?"

Norah gave a breathy chuckle at Ferra's chosen moniker for Hulin, before she swallowed, her gaze meeting the symbiotes as she reiterated her situation to them. It surprised Black, the strange sense of honesty she seemed to share with him; almost maternal, like she was explaining some gloomy life-lesson to them. And despite being hesitant towards their barbaric personalities and appearance, she opened up to them, revealing to them about how she just came from the Court — thankfully leaving out Black's whipping — and how he had cornered her with a forced marriage proposal that she didn't want.

The gunslinger walked steadily towards the pair and only stopped when his boots were at Hulin's head. The Edenian did his best to climb to his feet, no longer inhabited by Chaeomi, and blinked in pain as he stared with displeasure towards Ferra/Torr. Black regarded him like a fly, a mere constant annoyance he wanted nothing more than to swat with the butt of his revolver. However, he wouldn't have to; Ferra and Torr did the work for him, and it was pleasant to see the man hobble unsteadily on his injured leg.

When the ghost had told him about her vague plan to involve Ferra/Torr, he sincerely couldn't comprehend the value they would play; seemingly too stupid in Erron's opinion to understand. However, as he observed them, and saw Ferra's face mar with disgust at Norah's story and Torr's shoulders noticeably tense in reaction to his smaller counterpart's indignation, did he understand their purpose.

Norah had two friends —bodyguards — that Hulin would not mess with.

Ferra nodded her head, the baker's story seeping into her tiny little brain before she looked in Hulin's direction with anger. "So that why Bread Lady try and leave."

"Yes," the woman admitted. She looked to Torr, bowing her head in his direction. "Thank you, for what you did" — she looked to Ferra as well with the same appreciation — "what you _both_ did."

"Where do you think you will go, Norah!"

The Outworld woman visibly stiffened at her husband's voice shouting to her from afar. She turned towards him, her face stoic as she acknowledged him. Black could sense the type of enmity from the him; an anger that he was losing and that he no longer had the advantage. Finally, his true colors seemed to surface.

"Crippled or not, I'll still find you," he hissed, pain making his features twist, but still managed out a haughty laugh in her direction, "Where did you think you were going to go anyway, my dear? Back to that old couple? Back to Jan Fai? Do you want them to share Abigail's fate as well?"

The mention of the old Earthrealm woman made Norah instantly stiffen in anger and her hands clenched as she marched from the symbiotes to stand in front of him. Black watched them both in silence, as did Ferra/Torr, now audience to the domestic quarrel. The woman fumed at him, enraged at his first attempt at blackmail: using her friends against her. However, Erron knew as well as she did, she would falter. He didn't know the details of the older woman's demise but by the mere mention of the woman's name, he saw her buckle at his threat. Whatever it had been, was enough to scare her to comply — not wishing the same fate to those she cared for.

The more the silence lugged between them, the more Erron noticed her resolve start to drain from her face and to see her go from stubborn to defeated annoyed him enough to want to pistol-whip the man in the back of the head in her stead. He hated him, hated his tactics, hated his pompous demeanor, and hated his repulsive intentions. He hated Hulin as much as he hated the Grey Man.

Hulin meanwhile grinned. "You have nowhere to go... nowhere except the palace. You have no one but _me_."

She tried opening her mouth to retaliate before Ferra jumped in, hollering from her perch. "No true! Bread Lady have Ferra/Torr!"

The brutish pair came towards them, dragging the sack behind them as a cacophony of groans issued from the bag. The three adults looked to them, Hulin with angered consternation, Norah with bewilderment and Erron with a raised eyebrow.

The small imp looked to the baker before pointing a finger towards Hulin, and ordering: "She welcome with Ferra/Torr! And stay as long as she want!"

The woman blinked her eyes in confusion, unsure what Ferra was implying, and had made an attempt to ask before the ex-cupbearer let out a surprised shriek when Torr's hand encircled the woman's waist, lifting her off the ground before throwing her on his back next to Ferra. Norah's eyes went as wide as dinner plates as her hands frantically grasped at the thick ropes connected Torr's shoulder armor to the leather straps that went down his chest. Black almost wanted to laugh at the baker, looking as flustered and perturbed as a cat clinging to a curtain.

When the larger brute felt she had a good grip, he began to move towards the palace walls, but before they left, Ferra shot a finger towards Norah's husband. "And if you try hurt again, Torr will stomp guts out!"

The marksman couldn't tell over the sound of Torr's stomping retreat, but he swore he heard Hulin gulp in fear at the dwarf's threat, and it was enough for him to cock a grin beneath his mask for a second.

Erron turned away from the man for a moment, choosing to focus on the symbiotes and the baker. He watched their departure with a torn reaction. He was glad that his part of the bargain had been fulfilled — Norah now had time — but he couldn't really say he was comfortable with the arrangement.

He wondered if Chaeomi had purposely orchestrated the events as she had planned, or if there had been some unforeseen mishap and Norah's living situation with Ferra/Torr had been a last-minute effort to uphold her end. Regardless, he wasn't exactly satisfied; it still felt as if he was given the short end of the stick. Black eyed every inch of the marketplace and the palace walls with irritation. Where was that goddamn trickster of an apparition? Now that he saw what the ghost had in mind, the deal was shit and he wanted several words with her.

Norah looked back, her eyes meeting him for a second. She looked at him with a dubious countenance, almost reflecting his current thoughts if she should worry or not. He almost pitied her and wondered just how much of an improvement it was living with Ferra/Torr than Hulin.

However, he found himself frowning. She was still on borrowed time, nothing more...

_It didn't sit right with him._

" _You_ arranged for this!" Hulin accused, seething through gritted teeth. Black turned to him with a half-raised eyebrow; feigning he didn't know what he was talking about. "I don't know how, but you had something to do with this— Oof!"

Erron shot his leg backward, connecting the back of his heel with Hulin's uninjured, stabilizing leg and caused the man to fall face-first into the sand. The man growled, pain coursing through him as Black regarded him unsympathetically as he lay prone by his boot heels.

He could have easily stomped the back of his head with his boots, rendering him unconscious, and the thought was oh, so tempting, but instead, remembering the cutting nickname he had shot at him earlier, the gunman took a step forward. He stopped, his back to Hulin before he kicked sand into the man's face with his boots, shoving sand into his face like a dog kicking up dirt to dig a hole.

"Woof," was Erron's droll and aloof tone as he ignored the man sputtering sand behind him, cursing at him that he would regret his actions.

As he walked towards the palace, leaving Hulin to cough and struggle to stand behind him, he walked through the gates with apprehension.

Now that Norah was out of the way, Erron was left wondering if his conversation with Kotal Kahn would go as swimmingly.


	29. Chapter 29

** Chapter 29   
** **Once Upon a Time in the West  
** **Part 11  
** _**Crows** _

* * *

A ringlet of smoke escaped from the gunslinger's revolver as he surveyed the absent morning activity below his balcony, his heavy leather boots tapped methodically against the stone railing of his room he braced them on as he waited with impatience.

Erron leaned back into his wooden chair, a heavy sigh escaping him as blood and feathers fell from the ledge. The headless corpse of the blackbird laid at the base of the balcony, still twitching as the remainder of its blown off feathers fluttered lightly around him; half falling near him and half over the ledge and out of view to decorate the stone like confetti below.

He always hated birds. Nothing but disease-carrying pests, no matter how much Abraham had argued with him that they weren't all that bad.

_Everything has to eat._

But, no matter how much the old soldier had constantly reminded him, the Outworld cowboy remained vigilant in his hatred of them 150 years later. He hated almost every form of them. From seagulls to owls, to eagles or pigeons, it didn't matter— a rat with wings was still a rat with wings. However, he had a particular and more abrasive hatred for crows and ravens. He always heard Bill's voice in his head whenever one landed too close to comfort for him.

_"They're tellin' you it's your turn to collect some bad luck."_

And like prophecies of a wary soothsayer, Bill's words consistently became true.

Practically, he piled it all to coincidence. Nevertheless, every time he did see one, something almost immediately followed; a physical omen before him, and each appearance always got under his skin in the worst way.

The gunslinger dreaded their somber visitations, mainly because he had better things to do than to mull over what disastrous thing he was supposed to be expecting. He'd rather remain ignorant, therefore he could react more organically, than ironically making more mistakes by overthinking. The pistoler preferred to be quick on his feet, just get the issue out of the way and move to the next thing, it was when he had too much time to stew did it often bite him in the ass.

Even with his one exception to the rule, Black was still not notably superstitious, and as he got older, only related to others that he merely thought of them as nuisances. However, even after all these years, it was still an irrational paranoia he tried and failed to shake. So, in retaliation, he just killed the damn buzzards. As if he was proclaiming to the universe that he didn't care for its message and didn't give a shit about whatever ill-fate was to befall him.

The gunslinger didn't need to be a fortune teller to understand why the crow had been sent to him this specific morning. The reason was so evident that it was unnecessary to send any feathery messengers to remind him.

He was in a world of hurt with the Kahn.

The mercenary placed the barrel of his gun atop of his thigh, his ears fixed to his door for any footsteps of approaching servants carrying a summons for him. It would only be a matter of time now. Black hadn't expected him to want to see him immediately upon arrival, but still wished Kotal to get it done and over with; he had already contemplated it over enough on his way back to the palace.

In all honesty, Erron wasn't petrified of what the Emperor would do, perhaps because he already had a good prediction of what would ensue. What _did_ aggravate him, was wondering why Chaeomi still hadn't revealed to him Rain's location as included in their deal; the ace he was supposed to have up his sleeve had yet to be given to him by the card dealer.

The cowboy cursed to himself, his lip in a minuscule curl at the thought of the lying specter.

There was a reason he usually tried to get everything in goddamn writing, particularly for instances like these where there were too many gray areas that could be taken advantage of. Though he was satisfied that Norah was away from her _husband_ for the moment, he still had yet to procure _his_ end.

He started to wonder if the damn ghost was still going to, or if she had lied. He suspected the latter since it had proclaimed to know him more than he knew his self; that it knew he would want Rain's location as soon as he agreed to take the deal. However, he sat alone, fuming inside his room and waiting impatiently for the Kahn.

As the sun warmed his skin, his back burning in dull pain as he reclined in his wooden chair, the mercenary could do nothing but ponder about two singular thoughts. The first was reminiscing about what had happened hours ago in front of the palace walls, the other was simply him paraphrasing to himself how he would explain why he got whipped without getting fired in the process.

His calloused thumb ran over the handle of his revolver idly, his thoughts towards what the Kahn would expect from him. Black knew that no amount of lying would be able to rectify any consequences he would receive for embarrassing his office; he was still going to obtain a punishment no matter what. The Emperor would only accept, and respect, the truth be told from him. The only thing that made a difference, was just how much of the truth he was willing to divulge.

There was no reason to relate to the Kahn about the deal with Chaeomi, or Bert, nor Norah's marriage to Hulin; the information would be irrelevant in the end. The only thing Black could tell him would be that he owed the woman a debt for inadvertently causing her father's death.

It was blasé enough of an explanation that the Kahn would expect from him, though the only pitfall was Erron's uncharacteristic generosity towards Norah even if he was to blame for her predicament. It would not matter how much he reiterated it to the Osh-tekk, the concept of his unselfishness towards an unimportant servant would never be accepted. Not only because Erron thought Kotal would not think it justifiable enough, but because he knew the Emperor would never believe his change of heart.

The Kahn had always known Erron Black since the beginning of his employment to care for two things: his pay and himself. Unless ordered to do so, say accompanying some liaison or a member of the court to and from a location, seldom did the gunslinger ever consider the well-being of others—and never for free.

It wouldn't matter though; it was the only confession Kotal would pry from him. The only thing that was of consideration was how long it would take the emperor to swallow it and move on.

The cowboy pinched the bridge of his nose with his free fingers, a yawn escaping from his tired and wounded body. He couldn't recall when a night had been as emotionally irritating as the long one trekking back to the palace.

They were so few he could count them on a single hand. That was not to say there were more during his 150 years, just that there were just a stubborn few that refused to be forgotten. He had hope that what had happened over the past several days would be one of many forgettable instances, only recollected when he truly put effort into it. However, those taxing memories were something he had no desire to ever dig up. The semi-immortal man never found it useful to summon the past, nor look to the fickle future for instruction on how to proceed with his decisions in the present. It had been an unspoken rule to himself: live in the now and to hell with the past and future.

It hadn't been till the baker's appearance did he find himself breaking his rule and unwillingly reminiscing. It had been many of several reasons why he found her to be a pain in the ass and had reprimanded her with his hatred for doing something she wasn't aware of.

He couldn't shake the mirror images reflected from his past. Albeit, a loose reflection, as if he was gazing through a water-stained pane of glass; fuzzy, yet discernible enough to make out the image.

The latest echo was by far the most troubling. Partly because of Norah's precarious situation and the gloom outcome of the memory it reminded him of.

Sallie and the Gray Man.

The bounty hunter propped his elbow against the arm of the chair as his blunt fingernails scratched the stubble across his cheek. He placed his chin in his hand and let the weight of his tired head settle into the akimbo limb.

The memory from Atchison called back to him, and upon hearing its voice made Erron immediately despondent. It wasn't a happy tale, and if given no choice but to tell it, would have had to disclaim it wasn't before reiterating the story. From start to finish, the gunslinger failed to find a positive event since he met Sallie and the Gray Man.

Sure, there were instances where he could recall when he had truly been happy. However, just like his lifestyle, those bouts of peace had always been nomadic; staying just long enough in his life for a taste before moving on.

A revelation hit him as he slumped in the chair, his eyelids drooping despite his pained back and turbulent thoughts…

There have been far too few good moments and too many birds in his life.

Funny enough, each of those birds always signaled death nearby.

_"Maybe that's why they call it a murder of crows..."_ mused the gunslinger to himself before his gun slumped in his lap and he fell asleep.

* * *

**Kansas**

**1868**

The yellow-haired boy woke with a jolt when he heard the piercing caw, snapping his eyes open to witness a black crow had descended upon the camp and was picking for scraps near his bedroll. He could see the bird out of his peripheral, and it hobbled along, emitting another call into the early morning, as it danced near his head; close to his face as he laid on his back with his broken arm upon his chest.

His blue eyes gazed up at the still early hour; nothing but a cloudless indigo sky hanging overhead and dawn hours away. The pine trees that encircled their camp like pillars in a coliseum, swayed tenderly as if merely brushed by unseen fingertips, while he heard the gentle trickle of the river nearby. Picturesque, as if scenery plucked from some fairy tale, but even the young boy knew that all fairy tales were not as tender as their appearances.

The bird squawked again, its sharp beak now beating against the side of his sleeping mat, as the 7-year old turned to look at it.

Sallie stared back at him, the bird nowhere to be seen, as she hovered over his still form on hands and knees. Her once docile blue eyes, glowing like firelight, broke through the shadowed darkness of the pre-dawn light as she stared spitefully at him. Her form was bloody— as bloody as he had seen in Finney's tent. He could only gape his mouth at her, shivering under her venomous stare before she opened her mouth...

_CAW!_

The boy woke a second time, this time a choked gasp emanated from him as he thrashed awake. His broken arm protested, uncaring of his night terror, and he recoiled from the lightning bolt that shot through his arm inside of the sling.

Upon awaking, even though his dream had turned into a nightmare, he hoped that the location would have at least changed. But to his disappointment, it hadn't. He was still in the same camp that Abraham had set up two days ago— now far from Atchison.

He didn't even know where they were. Still for sure in Kansas, and though close to the border, he doubted their horse had carried them far enough to cross it. He guessed they were south, since all he could do was speculate that Abraham would head as far from the stagecoach trail as he could. The boy stared at the ex-Butterfield stagecoach horse, its obsidian hair moving as its muscle rippled in the early morning cold. He felt a cold sickness nauseate him as he stared at its prone form by the pine it was tied to.

It didn't belong to them... it was part of the team... now unknowingly liberated from its job and used as a means to escape.

Aaron felt a tear run down his face and he sniffled. Quickly, he wiped it away with the back of his sleeve. He saw Zachariah and his final look of betrayed countenance as Aaron unwillingly reminisced about how they had acquired the horse. Despite his thoughts towards the shotgun messenger, Aaron couldn't help but recoil at the last moment before they left Atchison. The last damned transgression on their stay in the Kansas town now sealed the boy's animosity towards the city. He'd never return. The town was now an Eden for all of his bad memories, and they still haunted him; all of the ghosts of Atchison, Kansas, _still_ followed him. The young boy knew they always would, they were chain-ganged to him, and he would never find the key he so desperately needed to free himself from the mental shackles.

The child heard rocks faintly scraping, and he turned to see the same crow from his nightmare; still hopping along near the edge of the burned-out fire from the previous night.

The boy sucked in a breath, and as a precaution, scanned the wooded area for any signs of the little girl in the white dress or the gray man—even the visage of his pa who he had long since burned away any guilt about. However, as it had been for the past week since their departure from Atchison, she was nowhere to be seen the second, or third time, he woke up... but she was always there for the first nightmare. It was always Sallie first; the most innocent of them all. She always reminded him his guilt would never be stainless, what he felt would always remain with him.

In conjunction with his visitations from Sallie, Abraham was always nowhere to be found; either away hunting, taking a piss, whatever. Truth be told, Aaron welcomed that he was never there because it allowed him to spill his tears onto the sleeve of his uninjured arm each time he woke up. His unhappiness never receded from him, no matter how many buckets he cried in his wooded isolation; the crow and the horse his indifferent audience.

No matter the company he kept, he was alone. Abraham was nowhere even when he was _present_.

Now, the ex-confederate and the boy hardly exchanged glances and only gave each other necessary words about what was needed to be done. They couldn't discuss anything else, because no matter the topic, however mundane, it always came back to Atchison, and even if it went unspoken, soured the conversation. So, they kept it as civil as their mutual awkward regard would allow.

_"Where are we going?"_

Aaron had asked that question two days ago, when his need to voice it brimmed over so much it spilled without his permission; it was the first time he spoke since they left Zachariah behind. The older man never did supply him with an answer, and the blonde-haired kid figured it was simply because he didn't know.

Their departure had been sporadic – as much as Aaron had hoped Abraham's irredeemable actions were before they found the Gray Man. However, the 7-year-old knew it was foolish to ponder - to wish with every fiber within him— that what the coachman had done had not been of his own formulated desires, but that he had simply been under the possession of some otherworldly demon.

The wary child eyed Abraham's dried clothes, hanging off a rope he had secured between two trees, and shivered. The boy had been surprised that the soldier had been able to get most of the blood off, but despite its cleanliness, all Aaron saw was the color red. Red. So much red... no other color existed. He could even feel it. Sticky, wet and hot on his face. Also, on his hands even though he had never touched it. He may as well have, it was as if the color itself knew he was to blame as much as Abraham, who had been coated head to toe.

_"For the girl..."_

The boy collected another tear on his sleeve, and he choked on a sob. It wasn't that he felt remorseful about Bachau's fate; he'd deserved it a hundred times over, and a hundred times worse than what Abraham had given him. It was merely guilt over telling Abraham the truth— everything. What the old man had tried to do to him, why Sallie was afraid of him, what he looked like, how he talked... every detail the boy had obtained—he told. His openness had been the key in the lock and spilled out what Aaron had been trying to keep shut-in for Abraham. He had no choice! His hand had been forced. Manipulated by a ghost who wore a ribbon in her hair and her best white dress...

As soon as he told the truth, Finney present in his tent watching with reluctance, Abraham had vanished; gone as sudden as a lightning strike.

The soldier had appeared before him, both unyielding and terrifying. There had been no mistaking the entity itself, the dormant side of Abraham finally let out of its cage and ready to help conduct whatever taboo acts that went against the coachman's adamantly abided by moral code. However, as much as Aaron wanted to believe Abraham still had the reigns, the asphyxiating malignant aura had been enough for Aaron to forget there was even a benevolent side at all. Abraham? Abraham who?

It hadn't taken long for the soldier to find Bachau, but Aaron was still surprised that the soldier had discovered him in one night. They weren't allowed to rest— not until the Gray Man was found.

The boy recanted horrifyingly each step in the direction towards the Gray Man, every footfall of his feeling like he was trekking through thick mud. It was strange, it had all felt too dreamlike and too real at the same time.

His memory played back like a listless nightmare, but the boy sitting alone in the camp could feel his feet hitting the ground with each progression as they made to where Abraham had found where he lived.

Aaron couldn't even remember how he figured it out, as soon as they had gotten the information, time moved too fast for him to store it for himself as if it was for only Abraham to retain. Maybe it was because the boy didn't want to know. If he didn't know, he wouldn't be involved. He wouldn't be involved with what came next...

_"Please no!"_

Aaron's blue eyes shot around the camp, Sallie's voice echoing like stones thrown against a wall. It had been faint, but he had heard her. He always heard her first. Her broken body in Finney's tent was branded in his mind...

They tracked the crooked man to his crooked house— an old cabin he reminded himself—one run-down and covered in moss and dust; like it had been plucked out of some macabre tale. It was a good place to hide, the shack looking as if it had been abandoned and only a welcome sight to the desperate and homeless. Then the boy, who had been outside of the crooked house, heard the sound of fists colliding into flesh, breaking bones, screams of pain, and blood squelching as Abraham drove his punches into the old man.

"For the girl…"

Aaron saw Sallie again, the only image of her that he could pull up was in Finney's tent...

_Her face was broken— including her nose, mouth, cheeks— but with a serene expression as if her body were thankful for the reprieve; happy to be dead. Aaron imagined her pained whimpers, heartbreaking screams, and the sound of crunching bones over a volume of wet blood soaking the fists of her attacker. Then the crescendo of the gun pointed at her and firing..._

The boy had stayed outside, only moonlight and the fireplace from inside the house casting any glow in the secluded area. He had his back to the outside of the cabin wall as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore the sounds happening inside the cabin. He didn't see, but he could picture it clearly, each grunt and scream painted before him. Abraham slammed him into a table or wooden piece of furniture, and Aaron heard wood clatter around on the hard floor. Bauchau's body hit the ground, and with Abraham towering over him, was sledgehammered with punches, each one breaking bones, loosening teeth, and coating the floor with blood.

The Gray Man spat something, something the boy hadn't been able to catch, but he heard Abraham respond, seething his reply with the most vehemence he had ever uttered. It was raspy and low— as if he didn't even harbor such an abnormally baritone frequency. _"Why wait? You can fucking burn before you even get to Hell!"_

Then, Aaron who dared a peek inside, watched as the battered body of the old man was dragged by the back of his collar by Abraham. Bauchau choked, his shirt strangling him, as Abraham, covered in the man's blood from head to toe, carried him over to the fireplace. Setting him down but not removing his hand from the back of his shirt, picked him up and shoved his head into the fire. Before he did, he heard Bachau utter a pitiful 'please no' before Abraham let go, replacing his hand with his boot to the back of the man's head as he stuck it into the inferno. The elderly man's reaction was instantaneous, and he screamed as his face melted into the burning logs and smoldering embers inside. Flames consumed him, and Aaron watched as they entered his mouth like greedy orange leeches, cooking not only the outside of the man's flesh but the inside as well. Aaron could smell the searing flesh from outside the cabin, and he couldn't take his eyes away as he watched the Gray Man burn alive, the odor just as bad as witnessing it.

Abraham didn't even care that his boot was on fire, as well as the ankle of his wool pants –all he cared about was making sure that the man stayed inside the fireplace as long as the coachman could bear the heat. Fresh blood—Bauchau's blood— smeared down Abraham's face like red hands tracing lines across his skin and soaked into the dark overcoat and vest, the material growing darker as it stained into the material. The frightened boy couldn't tell which was brighter, the glow of the flames or the malignant gleam in the coachman's eyes. The same man that had been haunted by the deeds he did in the war, the lives he took, and countless sins against him that seemed to always weigh down his spirit, took elation in what he was doing now.

Enmity shrouded the older Black's conscience, erasing any trace of having even the slightest bit of remorse for the Gray Man. Aaron didn't think that he would ever release him from the fireplace until Abraham couldn't bear the heat anymore and pulled him out. The elderly man, too much in agonizing pain to move, could only moan into the rotted floorboards of the cabin as the ex-confederate went to extinguish the flame on his pant leg by merely patting his leg with the palms of his hands. The coachman hissed, hurt, but not nearly as much as Bauchau was.

The elder man's face was unrecognizable; almost all of his hair had been burned away while his face was speckled with bright red spots and black charred skin that looked more like black brittle leaves. The old man did nothing but sob feebly, crying also rendering him in excruciating pain. There was no sympathy from either the boy and his surrogate father, but the child did cringe at the sight before him and fear the monster that masqueraded in the coachman's clothes.

Abraham didn't stop, his face didn't even flicker to indicate any other emotion other than malevolence. The man pulled out his knife, the one strapped inside the sheathe hanging off his belt and hiding behind his overcoat.

Aaron hadn't registered anything leading up to what he did next, not him pulling the man's pants off, not the older man's cries for mercy. He didn't remember any of it; he just saw the seconds jumped ahead to the next memory as if they hadn't even existed at all.

The next thing Aaron witnessed was Abraham sawing the man's cock off with his knife and listening to Bauchau screaming into the night like a banshee. The boy didn't even know a man's scream could be so loud, but it had been harsh enough for Aaron to cover his ears. The child saw nothing, but red. Red gushed from his severed appendage as Abraham cut it was cruel brutality, never flinching in his determined grisly idea for revenge for the little girl he murdered. Bauchau's blood stained the floor, forming a puddle beneath him, and it wasn't until the coachman pried the man's burnt mouth open to shove his severed organ into it, did the elderly man stop screaming. Instead, he choked, gurgling on the forced obstruction in his throat, his blood, and the combined amount of pain he was in.

The ex-soldier clamped a hand over his mouth and nose, pushing down with all of his angered strength to ensure that the older man couldn't breathe. "Choke on it— die on it— cocksucker."

The older man whimpered under the coachman's bruising pressure, gagging noisily before Abraham's fist raised over his head and he began to bash the man's charred head into the floor. Even from where the child stood in the doorway, blood hit Aaron's face while the man's face turned into shredded meat onto the floor. It was only until he heard the ex-soldier's fist hitting the wood floor of the cabin, combined with the chorus of squashed flesh, did Aaron have to turn away and throw up what was in his stomach outside the cabin door.

The boy stumbled away from the cabin as soon as he emptied his gut, vomit soaking into the dirt, as he continued to hear the constant macabre melody of Abraham's hands hammer away on what was now a disfigured corpse.

Darkness blurred into his vision, as the boy continued to scramble away from the silhouette of the crooked little cabin. The frightened child bumped into trees as sharp branches hit his broken arm, and earned a hiss of pain from him as he navigated the dark woods with nothing more than instinct to guide him. However, his mind was a puddle with too many stones being thrown into it for him to gather a coherent picture.

He heard heavy footsteps behind him— very heavy— but the boy didn't look. Instead, he continued to fight his way through the woods.

_It's not Abraham._

_It wasn't. It wasn't!_

Aaron felt a tear run down his face as he heard someone call his name.

_Please don't let it be Abraham._

A hand snatched him by the back of his collar and yanked him back. At the same time, the boy hollered, letting out a startled scream until he was turned, and found himself staring up at a familiar shotgun messenger. The boy didn't know if he felt elation or despondence seeing Zachariah, but the feelings only combated for a moment before the Missourian fired a question at him that the boy didn't hear the first time.

"Where's Abraham?" he repeated irritably. The man tugged on the reins of the horse, stilling it has he focused on the child; waiting for his answer.

Aaron babbled, his lips feeling as they had been shut closed by glue, as he pointed towards where he ran from. However, it wasn't the cabin he had been pointing at...

In the dark, unsure of who it was holding the man's frightened child, and with too much adrenaline flowing through his veins, Aaron watched as Black lifted his gun and shot Zachariah in the back.

The shotgun messenger catapulted forward, the bullet hitting him in the right shoulder blade and exiting out. Zachariah cried out in pain, the same time the horse bucked and reared when the shot went out. The other coachman, somehow still managed to hold on to both the reins and Aaron. The man's hand clamped down hard on the back of the boy's shirt, ringing pain along the top of his shoulders and traveling down both arms. Aaron cried out, his small hand grappling over the older man's as yet another bullet from Abraham's gun hit him again and involuntarily made him clutch the boy's shirt harder as the man fell to his knees.

Zachariah huffed out and turned over his shoulder at his assailant— the very one that was supposed to be his friend.

Abraham stared vacantly at them, and it was more terrifying than any of the other acrimonious looks he had seen on the man's face that night. Aaron saw recognition enter— settle him for the briefest of moments— before crushing remorse overshadowed him. There was still a semblance of the Abraham he knew, the one he considered to be his father figure. However, the boy soon realized that it wasn't. It was a mixture; both of the coachman and the soldier, together in a fickle cocktail. The Abraham he knew was present, but it was still the demon of the cold confederate whispering something indiscernible into the man's ear that was in control. And it spoke to him now, telling him of a bad epiphany that needed to be done with the unplanned entrance of Zachariah.

Abraham's eyes slid over to Aaron and then back to Zachariah while the boy slowly started to click the pieces together. Recalling Zachariah's hatred for the boy, how the man had constantly reminded Aaron that he was a sour apple poising Abraham. Now the 7-year-old finally could see his point of view. The shotgun messenger came to stop Abraham from doing something he would regret. As evil as Bauchau was, he knew what Abraham was going to do, and despite that the man had deserved it, was adamant in stopping him. It had been the same unspoken bargain Abraham had tried with Aaron and shooting his father, and just like with Aaron, it ended bloody and corrupted them.

However, there was one difference. Aaron's ordeal had many witnesses... now it was just them and between the three of them, it seemed that Abraham knew there was one person that might turn him in.

Black pulled back the hammer on his gun at the same time Aaron watched Zachariah coil in fear underneath Abraham's silent and rueful countenance. The coachman was regretful, but his eyes were hard with knowledge of what needed to be carried out. The ex-soldier raised his gun as the shotgun messenger gave him one last look of bitterness.

"I'm all he has."

The boy shook his head, cold realization hitting him like a stab to the heart when he heard Abraham's explanation. Aaron blinked back tears as Zachariah turned towards him as hateful as a rattlesnake.

"This — _every_ god damned piece of it— is all your fucking fault, you evil bastard son of a whore-"

The child let out a wail, a choked ' _no'_ that had been wrenched from him, as soon as the gun went off the third time that night—

* * *

_CAW!_

Erron jumped awake, the gun that had settled in his lap when he fell asleep in his chair, now pointed towards the balcony. The gunslinger had expected to see another damn bird, but instead, he found nothing but the previously dead one still baking in the desert sun by his feet. Still, his breath held, he waited for another call, as if waiting for the catalyst for waking him up to present itself.

Then he heard it, a light staccato of knocks coming from his door...

...Signaling that his reprieve from the Kahn had run out.

* * *

_"He was there."_

The moment Ermac had confirmed it to the Kahn, having been sent there to report back to him, Kotal had found himself frozen in the same turbulent mood.

Out of all his enforcers, he had always found Erron Black to be the most apathetic towards what it meant to be a Kahn's guard. But the Osh-tekk knew his loyalty could be manipulated for his gain, and it was favorable; such an easy vice to exploit that the gunfighter coveted to with all his energy. The mercenary only cared about his name and money and only dutiful as long as the source was good for it. And Kotal had been good for it, even with money towards eliminating Mileena's failed rebellion. The compromise was rudimentary but yielded results just fine when the Kahn needed it. In fact, without a reminder of what Erron Black cared for, the Kahn could have easily mistaken his hard work ethic for loyalty. However, he knew his loyalty was nothing more than a façade. Still, Black was just as useful as the other guards that were indeed truly loyal.

So when he heard word from the Coliseum about him, the bothersome gossip traveling like hurricane wind through Z'unkahrah, at first he doubted the validity. He knew the man well enough he thought, knowing his simple and unapologetic greedy character, but evidently, he had been mistaken.

Black had been whipped before a small crowd gathered, and even if there were only five people to witness it, there had been enough to spread the word. It didn't matter if the citizens of the Outworld city thought of them as falsehood, there were still enough that believed to sour the mercenary's name— and more importantly, the image of the other Kahn's guards.

The guards were not subject to the same punishments that the common people of Z'unkahrah were. There was an unspoken hierarchy, despite that all united citizens were equal. If there was an issue, the crime and discipline were carefully measured and as carefully executed. There was a projection that needed to be displayed of the Emperor's control, that things did not go without his say-so—especially when it came to those that were entrusted to protect him and uphold the laws of Outworld.

Propaganda— but necessary.

How could the Emperor enforce order if he couldn't even control his bodyguard, and how could said bodyguard expect to control the public that was abashing him throughout the capital streets?

Sitting on his throne, watching the early sunrise lift over the parapet beyond the balcony that viewed the city, the Emperor glowered as he still battled over the appropriate remedy.

There was still use for Erron Black, if not, he would not have thought twice about removing him from his station. With the near rise of Shinnok and the even deeper troubling prospect of invasion from Earthrealm, the Kahn still needed any available hand he could get. After the Tarkatan/Edenian alliance that lasted for a night, his army was slightly more depleted than they already were. Plus, there were still other rebels to round up.

All of the pressing issues the Kahn had was beneficial for the gunslinger. If they didn't exist, he would have sent the wretch back to the dungeons. Unfortunately, he needed him at the moment, though it did not mean the man would go unpunished.

The form of punishment had been easy to conjure up for the Osh-tekk. It was a simplified resolution that was borderline mundane. The only way to hurt Erron, was too take away his beloved vices. Although the Kahn still had a use for his name, his money could be stripped easily from him. The Kahn still needed his skills, but he also needed to reinstate his name; to clean the filth the mercenary had done to himself. Which is why he would do the beheading. He knew despite how much the man loved to put bullets in people's heads, knew he had no fondness for decapitating someone. The Kahn had always found it ironic for Black to have such reservations since he had no qualms about killing whoever got in his path. Perhaps it was a remnant of his former Earthrealm customs, a thing that was not done and taboo. Perhaps that was why the mercenary preferred his firearms as much as he did. It was quicker than blooding his hands, less personal than grabbing someone by the hair and sawing their skull from their shoulders. The ex-Mayan god found it to be exhilarating; his culture respecting brutality upon their enemies and installing fear when they rolled their severed heads in their directions.

Regardless of why, the Kahn would have him carry them out himself with the dullest weapon they could provide. And if the ex-Earthrelamer wanted to keep his occupation, he would do every last one he ordered. No matter how brutal, no matter how taxing, no matter how much Black hated it. He would do it in front of a gathered crowd as what was custom, displaying the man's cruelty while at the same time punishing Black.

Propaganda. Not the best, but adequate on short notice.

There was another punishment that the Emperor had planned, one that could only be discussed behind closed doors between them. And it was something that would hurt him far more than causing him discomfort. It would cripple him until he succeeded, and when he did finally accomplish it, would he be respected by not only the Kahn, earning his forgiveness for his stupid folly in the Coliseum, but respected by the citizens of Outworld as an accomplished bounty hunter.

_Propaganda._

A knock came at the door and without looking away from the sun beyond the balcony, he called out with a stony baritone: "Enter."

The heavy stone door groaned as it was pushed open by the guards stationed outside, allowing Erron inside. The Kahn could see him out of the corner of his eye, walking with an air of feigned indifference. Even with his mask and hat on, Kotal could sense his hesitation with each measured footfall towards the throne. They both knew he was aware he was in trouble, and perhaps Erron had even come to the same conclusion on how he was to be punished.

The Osh-tekk, his arm akimbo on this throne, ran his thumbnail back and forth lazily across the top of his jaw as his markings glowed; his eyes still on the sun. Black was the first to speak, understanding that the Emperor was waiting on him.

"I take it you heard."

The Kahn turned to him finally, a glower upon his face as he regarded the mercenary with discontent at his blasé but still sarcastic choice of words. Kotal's eyes narrowed, casting a vehement shine directly on the gunman.

"Then you are aware of my intolerance for you at this very moment."

Black nodded in acknowledgment, choosing to remain silent, but Kotal could still sense the man's impatience. Erron was never one for ceremony, and at the present moment, Kotal had no qualms about forgoing decorum; to present himself as the levelheaded Kahn Outworld saw him as. If the mercenary wanted to be blunt, then he would be as well.

"Tell me why I should not have you whipped again for staining the reputation of my court," the Kahn flared, his tone low with indignation.

The gunman shook his head, "I didn't muddy it that bad."

"You paraded an indiscreet display of weakness— one that is no longer still gossip— and you still claim subtlety in your actions?" the Emperor interjected, his voice as bass-like as a jaguar's growl.

Black's eyes met the Kahn's dead-on, the small act of rebellion against his employer's statement causing Kotal to bristle in annoyance.

"They'll forget about it..."

The Kahn scoffed at the marksman's weak declaration. "There is little doubt that they will. Especially since the motivation of your imbecilic actions is veiled."

Black's shoulders slumped at the same time his fingers rubbed against the palms of his hands. Only then did the Kahn notice that the marksman was missing a vital piece of his attire— one that was always worn.

His holsters were empty; his guns most likely still in his room.

The Emperor snorted at the man's feeble attempt to offer a balm. The gunslinger never went anywhere without his firearms in all the years that he knew him—Black always had them present. They were an extension of the man, a part of his makeup, so to be present without them meant he left them behind on purpose to relay to the Kahn that he knew what he had done was wrong. Not that Kotal ever thought the man would be reckless enough to shoot him, but he knew the significance of such a simple act on the mercenary's part. However, it instead only aggravated him more—producing the opposite effect the gunslinger might have wished for.

The Kahn stood from his chair, approaching his employee with hardened discontent, as each footfall descended the steps like hammering nails into a coffin. Black squared his shoulders, his chin lifting, and his blue eyes set on the Emperor's in one last attempt of professionalism. The taller Osh-tekk glared down at him, a fist curled and ready to lash out like a viper, as he addressed him again.

"You will tell me your explanation of why my court is now viewed so degradingly," scowled the Emperor.

The gunslinger exhaled through his nose, his eyes impassive. "What? Ermac didn't dig it up for you already? Why else would you send him?"

Restraint left the Emperor faster than his fist impacting the man's stomach, and Erron keeled over from the brutal impact of it; air wheezing out of his lungs as he sunk to his knees. The gunslinger wrapped an arm around his middle, trying his best to collect air as pain filled his lungs with each attempt.

"Yes. I _know_ of your appointment with the Barristers," Kotal spat heatedly at him. "But what information is shielded to me is _why_ you would take another's place."

The Kahn watched as Black lowered his head towards the floor before he lifted it, an excuse he had dying as soon as he realized Kotal knew about the cup-bearer. The Kahn's guard faltered, acknowledgment that Kotal knew of the origin of his guarded sin revealed as strong as a second fist had collided into him. His silence made him more acrimonious and Kotal felt another fist tighten again in response to his silence.

Ermac had interviewed the barristers that had charged Black with the whipping— knowing that he had unjustly stolen slave property. But what the Kahn had failed to understand, and Ermac hadn't been able to interrogate out, was _why_ Black would take a slave girl's place.

The gunslinger never portrayed any benevolence to any of the palace women, seeing them as nothing more than something to fuck, and only showing them any saccharine attention when he needed to chase a release. So what significance was the woman in question to him? The cup-bearer was nothing more than a negligible entity— one easily forgettable as soon as another came to take its place. There was nothing remarkable about her that Kotal saw, and could only come to one conclusion that was weak at best.

"Is it because you are Earthrealmers, yet not at all?" The Kahn castigated. "But we know you are not so ardent—you care nothing of your former realm enough to save her flesh on just that reason alone."

Black said nothing, the ex-Earthrealmer struggling to use his tongue as if the explanation left him too numb to utter the words. Kotal shook his head at him, disappointment flooding over his temper before it receded and anger at the man's reticence lingered.

"Shall I bring her before me to harvest the truth, since you are so keen to keep it reaped only for yourself?" The Emperor glared at the silent marksman, leaning forward towards him and crinkling his nose in disgust. "Perhaps I should give the order to execute her to ensure that my paid guard does not commit _another_ act of aberration."

Black let out a humorless and breathy chuckle. "Don't think Ferra'd be too keen on that."

"Do _not_ deride me as if my words were made of air!" seethed Kotal. "Tell me your reason, or I shall give the order now."

The man stayed silent, his arm still wrapped around his side, before he sighed in defeat and stared with staunch honesty. "…I owed her a debt."

The Emperor narrowed his eyes in skepticism at the gunslinger's admission. "Since when do you ever covet for peace with your transgressions?"

The marksman lowered his arm, but never faltered in his resoluteness. "What I did was shitty enough and I took her place to make up for it, and I can sit with that."

Kotal Kahn exhaled through his nose, waves of both ire and comprehension mingling together like transitions of tidewaters. He recognized Black's admission had not been the easiest to deliver, and the Kahn sensed a deeper history beneath the short explanation, and knowledge of it, still made the Emperor ruffle with discontent.

"And what act on your part was too cruel to bear? One that required an offering of flesh and blood as penitence?"

Shame covered the gunslinger like a shadow, a despondent sigh escaping him. "I killed people she cared for. Got her into a mess she didn't need to be in"—the gunman shot a caustic stare— "but its paid now. I paid it in full as you heard from that chicken-shit crowd too afraid to tell it to my face. I don't owe shit anymore— the hatchet's been buried."

The Emperor cocked his head at the man's defiance, a mordant smile upon his face. "But it _isn't_ you fail to see. Because of your shortsightedness, you are now indebted to _me_."

Black narrowed his eyes in contempt at the Emperor, but not with the vigor he would have expected hearing that Kotal planned to demonetize him. It only meant the gunman had figured out what was to happen to his coins before he walked into the throne room. Still, the Emperor continued, as if the man was ignorant of what he was saying: "And repayment of debt to me comes without the luxury of a salary until I see fit to give it to you once again."

"Yeah... I figured that out," was Black's tired rebuff. "So what do you want?"

Kotal frowned but ignored the man's sarcastic quip. "For _my_ satisfaction, knowing your detestment, you may be the one to carry out beheadings in the courtyard," Kotal commanded, his chin raising in cold authoritative amusement.

Black blinked, an unimpressed eyebrow raising. "That's it?"

"Oh, it will not be as simple as you wish," the Emperor remarked derisively. "You will still hunt my bounties, bringing them to me— hoping they are enough for forgiveness— but until you collect one worthy enough, only then will I grant you back what you love more than yourself."

Erron scoffed with exasperation. "Just get to it. Whose head you want?"

The Kahn regarded the mercenary with icy apathy, turning away from him to walk forward towards his balcony as he clasped his hands behind his back. The sun-glazed over his skin, offering him small comfort in his irritated state. Erron's cynicism, one that the gunslinger tried to mask over his discomfiture, ensured the man's acceptance of his fate. He would carry out what needed to be done to gain his employment back. They both knew it and even though there was no need to voice it, the disgruntled Emperor still did— making sure that the gunslinger knew the severity of his sentence, and any hope for amendment was on his own shoulders.

"Find Rain— alive— or find another employer."

There was a heavy pause; nothing but silence, until he heard Erron's acceptance in the form of exhaling a sigh before he climbed to his feet. Even without looking, Kotal felt the man's pensive acceptance as he slowly retreated to the door. Both of them knowing a singular truth that kept him blackmailed to his promise.

"And I doubt you will find another that will pay as handsomely as I."

* * *

_**The Next Day**_ …

Well... it could have gone worse. It was the only shitty reassurance he could offer himself as he stood in his room, the sun receding finally in the distance. He welcomed it, he thought this fucking day would never end.

Black stood over a washbasin, given to him by one of the servants after he had concluded the rest of his required beheadings. Erron dipped his hands in the water, gathering a handful before he ran it over his face. With every cupful of water he palmed, he tasted copper on his lips, and he knew he would taste blood for the rest of the week. He was soaked in it, covered in head to toe by the end of it. Red dripped down like rainfall from him, spotting and swirling inside the once clean water. Now it was opaque, cardinal spirals now spinning in front of him as he bathed himself of it the best he could. Despite his efforts to utilize what he had, Erron knew it would still stain on his skin the next day, and perhaps the next day after that; his clothes even longer.

The marksman eyed the balcony where the headless blackbird still cooked in the Z'unkaharah heat despite the warmth of the day now dissipated. Now three more were gathered around its dead comrade, cannibalizing what was left. They cawed and squawked at each other, fighting over the scraps still clinging like cheesecloth off the nearly clean skeleton. One of the birds, ripped a significant chunk and looked at him; its seedy black eyes finally acknowledging him while the others ignored him.

Erron would have fanned the hammer on them all if he wasn't tired or still in pain. The exertion from bringing down the dull ax all day had opened up the lashes once again, and he hissed in pain when he reached up over his head and removed his black undershirt from his body. Dried blood clung like glue to him, causing his skin to mortar to his shirt. With a few pained tugs, he was free and threw the soiled shirt on top of his table with his other gear. Now shirtless and bootless, he settled into his bed face down; airing out his open lacerations as dusk settled.

Black listened to the birds as he crossed his arms under him and propped the side of his head against the length of his forearm like a pillow; contemplating his day with a sour intellect.

He could give a baseline answer to anyone that asked why he wasn't too fond of beheadings, and the reason was simply too much red. Got him too dirty for what he was accustomed to with a well-placed aim from a revolver. At first, Erron wasn't quite sure why the Kahn had ordered him to chop heads off in the first place, finding it to be a wasteful demonstration that wouldn't accomplish anything.

However, despite whatever the Emperor's misplaced intentions, it had hit him hard. It wasn't that the gunman minded getting messy; he'd had plenty of brawls that created puddles of blood. No, he hated them for an entirely different reason—one that the Emperor would have never figured out despite his perception.

* * *

**Kansas**  
**1868  
** **The Next Day**

Aaron hadn't even considered the fact that the Sheriff might send someone after them for the murder of Zachariah—he couldn't even begin to understand how the Sheriff of Atchison may have even known the man was dead. From what the boy figured, there should have been nothing left of Zachariah, or any evidence of Bachua. All of it had been incinerated in an inferno that Abraham had started to cover their trail. There was nothing left of the cabin from what the boy could reckon, the only signs of their existence a parasitic memory inside of the boy's mind. And no matter how much he tried to pull it off of him - trying to forget about what had happened - it seemed to cling tighter to his soul; refusing to budge from his conscience.

He heard Zachariah's words to him like an echo bouncing back to him with every agitator that triggered the memory: the horse, the birds, his nightmares that always started with Sallie. He heard the shotgun messenger's voice—his last words to him— ringing in his ears. The proclamation was always constant as if it was an everlasting echo bouncing off cave walls for eternity; and he was trapped in that cave for as long as he hung on to the memory of their last night in Atchison. It would always be carried with him, more so because he believed Zachariah's words with all certainty.

It was all his fault.

If he hadn't been brought to Atchison, none of this would have happened.

He was a catalyst.

And now, watching the river turn red... he added more bodies on to his already red ledger.

Three headless men floated down in front of him, bobbled on the surface, and gently guided down by the current. Their heads were still attached, but the remnants that still clung were nothing more than broken open red melons. They had been split apart from what could only come from an ax. They had no identities—not that he knew who the nameless men were— the disfigurement of their heads gave them an inhumane and haunting visage. They may as well have been beheaded, nothing more than macabre effigies; the removal and brutality did to their heads as grotesque as it was frightening.

The three men disappeared, carried off by the current as Aaron shuddered, tears pricking his eyes while he felt Abraham's hand rest on his shoulder.

The boy didn't look at the ax the man had, knowing it was weeping blood from the steel. The ex-confederate rubbed his thumb along the top of the child's shoulder as if trying to remind him that he was the same father-figure that he had been before Aaron had spilled the truth about Sallie and her adopter.

"They're gonna keep coming," Black told him, his tone as soft as he could muster. The child shrunk under his hand, trying his best to remove it despite the gentle hold. Aaron recognized that the coachman's simple statement had been a mere observation, and the hand on his shoulder reassurance that Abraham would do anything to make sure that he was there for him. But he didn't want it. It wasn't the same as before.

_"This—every god damned piece of it— is all your fucking fault, you evil bastard son of a whore—"_

Zachariah's words hit him hard again, causing tears to spill out of his eyes as the boy whimpered. Abraham tightened his hold on the boy, enough to remind Aaron that he was there as support. The child's head hung in shame and he sobbed loudly, not caring about hiding it anymore from Abraham. The coachman dropped the ax and the boy shivered as it clattered loudly against a large rock along the bank. The man dropped to his knees, kneeling in front of Aaron.

Sternness stared into the boy's swollen red eyes, causing the child to cry even more, but Aaron also recognized the haunted empathy the coachman tried to soothe him with; as if admitting his apology silently to Aaron for his own culpability for how the child felt. He saw the man's jaw tighten, his eyes hardening to stone as he uttered an explanation _—_ one derived from what could only be from Abraham's own experience. "I know what the girl went through. I went through it same as her."

The child looked down at his feet. Unsure of how to respond or even if he should respond at all, and although the animosity was elucidated, it didn't remove the boys still lingering guilt. Aaron recalled Zachariah accusing him of corrupting Abraham, and throughout his whole experience in Atchison, it was profoundly hard to dispute that he had been right.

_"This—every god damned piece of it— is all your fucking fault, you evil bastard son of a whore—"_

If it wasn't for him, maybe they all would have been fine...

_Sallie..._

_Bauchau..._

_Zachariah..._

They boy stared at the coachman, but only saw the soldier behind his eyes now, the one that the boy knew he had tried his damnedest to abolish.

_Abraham..._

The older Black sighed dejectedly as he rose to stand. The man and the child simply stood in silence, nothing but the trickle of the stream as discord. The silence was heavy, suffocating, as they assessed one another; deciphering where they now stood in regards to each other.

The boy sniffled, looking past Abraham to make out the little girl beyond the tree line. Sallie stared at him, her eyes bright with amusement, and as quickly as he blinked, she was gone once again.

A crow flew down, landing nearby the camp and breaking their weighty lull. The now ex-stagecoach employee looked down at his ward and swallowed; his sea green eyes stout upon the boy.

"I knew a man from Wickett, Texas from the war. He's dead now." he stated flatly. The boy furrowed his eyebrows, not understanding why he would mention it. Abraham looked down at him and gave a minuscule but authoritative nod of his head. "How you spell your name, son?"

Aaron swallowed, sucking down what was usually an automatic answer. Through his chaotic state of mind, he contemplated hard on what Abraham was really asking him. They both knew that the three men wouldn't be the only ones coming after them, and also that they could never return to employment with a stagecoach company. They would have to carve out anonymity now and bury everything before Atchison in its own pine coffin.

They could never return to the way things were.

"E-R-R-O-N," the boy finally answered him, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Abraham nodded at his answer, pleased by his understanding of their quandary. "Where you from?"

The boy felt another tear fall down his face as he croaked out: "Wickett..."

Abraham's hand came up to cradle the side of the boy's head, smoothing over his hair as if in admiration for his complicity. The 7-year old whimpered again; he didn't want to be _Erron_ and he didn't want the soldier.

However, they were without a choice.

_"This — every god damned piece of it— is all your fucking fault, you evil bastard son of a whore—"_

The man hugged him, pulling him into an embrace that the boy couldn't muster to return. Abraham held him, trying his best to convey that the man Aaron wanted was still there, but things would have to change. The boy couldn't see how things could go back to being the same.

"Forget it all son _—_ we won't speak of it again," Abraham mumbled in a sympathetic but pensive tone. "Leave it behind for the crows."


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**   
**Once Upon a Time in the West**   
**Part 12**   
_**Uneven Ground** _

* * *

_Though it was Atchison that gave him his new first name, it had been Abilene that had finished it for him._

_Funny, he hadn't thought much of Abilene until recently. The American West where he had spent his youth was both the same entity that had shaped him and destroyed him. It gave as well as it took. You prospered with all your conviction or you died easily, and the last time he had set foot in Abilene, he died. At least, Aaron Buchannan died. Finally suffocating after being buried alive underneath his foolish optimistic resilience that things could get better. And they were for a little bit, he had found happiness in Abilene._

_The most he had ever known._

Erron scowled in his sleep.

_Abilene had lied to him though; it had promised him a home to settle down in and burned it away as quick as it had been to give._

_But it wasn't until the construction of the grave-markers he made while he was there, did he truly don the name Erron Black. He could have chosen any other moniker, but no matter how many times he tried on something different, the fake name turned to ash on his tongue. Erron Black was what he truly was; molded by circumstances and the people in his life. Erron was the boy that had come to Abilene, the doppelganger of his past self that finally got a chance to become what he was now. It seemed ill-fitting to respell his name Aaron after his façade had become his new mien. He had been happy being the scrawny kid from Wickett that made his home in Abilene..._

_With both Abraham and..._

The gunslinger grumbled incoherently out a name that had no shape anymore, just a color.

_Green..._

Black's eyes flickered behind his lids; fighting to wake up.

_But Abilene broke his heart twice._

_Fitting himself with the name Black was for the only father he knew. For Abraham, who he still loved no matter how much he told himself he hated the man. The man's sacrifice for him had been displayed in Abilene, and although the soldier never departed, Abraham was better than any other man he knew; doing his damned best to make up for Atchison._

_So, his death by his own melancholy hands had been as sharp as broken glass and had turned Erron's soul to mush. The soldier never did depart, but instead grew like a hidden cancer; slowly affecting him until most of the Abraham he loved withered away. The deeds of the confederate finally chiseled him away on the inside, breaking off a bit of him little by little over the years every time he went for the bottle, until there was nothing but an empty vessel— one that couldn't flood to the brim no matter how much whiskey he took in. The last time he saw him, Abraham didn't even remember his own name, let alone Erron's. Taking his name, was the only way Erron knew how to thank Abraham for everything he tried to be to him. Erron knew the man had done his best for him, even if he didn't remember anything anymore._

_That was the first time Abilene took something from him._

_The last time his heart had been ripped from him in the Kansas city, was far worse, and cemented his hatred for the West. In a way, he felt it had always meant to ruin him, as if it knew he would betray his realm one day. The thing was though, you couldn't really call it betrayal if you were betrayed first._

_He refused to think of it as nothing else and mourned in his own way. Deciding to simply covet money and work as reparations for his bereavements. So much so, it was all he knew anymore. Gold for green. No names… just a color._

The gunslinger fidgeted in his sleep.

_But he couldn't_ _**not** _ _see them, no matter how much he tried. His thirst for whiskey had been the first omen that they wouldn't stay dead after all this time; he hadn't had the need for the vice since walking into the baker's tavern._

_There hadn't been much reflection of why he truly wanted whiskey, he thought he just wanted to savor the taste. Perhaps he did... just not the beverage itself. Now he realized, it had been nothing but a shovel—one handed to him by a shadow—meant to dig up what he had refused to grieve about. He hadn't seen it till now, but it had always been skulking around. A memory masquerading behind other memories; another demon. One that he had first thought was his mother's death, and another time as Sallie's demise._

_She wasn't either, even if the strange coincidences would have begged to differ._

_He always knew the reason he hated Norah... always, since the first time. But it had been too taboo to acknowledge the shadow that had always been behind her, staring at him. So, he made other excuses. It had been easier to admit to lies than give acknowledgement to the doleful faces of the truth._

The marksman shifted uncomfortably in his bed.

_Erron Black found himself on a lone hill, staring down at two separate patches of disturbed soil with identical crosses erected from both plots. Their names and dates had long been etched away from his memory, as if they hadn't existed at all. But they did... they still did._

_Both passed souls had lay dormant in an entombed Pandora's Box of his creation. He couldn't even remember their names, and he refused to try and recall them. Remembering them would have brought him back to that cursed moment he finally became Erron Black._

_All he could remember was a singular color they both shared._

His hand tightened into the sheet, twisting it between his fist.

_Green._

_The color green._

_Erron reached forward and dug his hands into the soil of the small grave, tearing it apart to get to the coffin... the name on the tombstone fuzzy but growing clearer to more he tore at the dirt._

He jolted awake; his pillow wrinkled harshly in his hands as he gasped for air he hadn't even known he had been withholding. His heart fluttered violently against his chest, as he craned his head towards the balcony. Moonlight pooled into his room as a few distant calls from citizens in the marketplace echoed from afar into his room. There was still time to get some rest, but he hesitated before he placed his head back on the pillow; afraid to dive back into his memoir of Abilene. But he did eventually, and like he had done for so long, put away his memory.

… _So, he turned his back on the West after Abilene, and ventured so far that he started again on the opposite side of the compass. To the East, into Shang Tsung's brief service, and finally into Outworld._

_Hoping to never see the color green again._

* * *

Black felt two things when he woke up steadily: still a slave to bouts of tiredness. The first was the warmth of the blazing desert sun on his skin. The other, was slender fingers grazing the stubble of his chin, caressing with feather touches. Still half asleep, he felt the hand stride tenderly down his face and trail down to his chest.

His eyes finally shot open, but he stayed still on his side. Unsure if he was awake or still in a vivid night-terror. It wasn't, he soon realized, as he felt another body pressed into him from behind and felt the bosom of a woman plastered painfully against his afflicted back. His nostrils sucked in a heated bit of air, his eyes narrowing, but it wasn't until he felt an all too real nail slowly make an 'X' over his bare chest where his heart was did he react.

It was an action that was both anciently familiar and unwanted. It had been applicably purposeful— meant to get his attention—and it sent fire racing into his veins. He knew who it was behind him from the action alone— only one 'person' could have known— as he jumped from his bed, the female's arm sliding from his side as he turned on his heels and cocked his revolver.

He grimaced slightly, knowing he would see Chaeomi, but hadn't expected the malignant entity to once again masquerade in the skin of the baker. Erron rolled the hammer forward on his gun, disarming it, but gripped the handle tight as he pointed it towards the ceiling. Black blinked furiously towards the possessed baker, her blue eyes castigating him playfully as the woman rolled from her side to her back; a bark of laughter escaping her as she looked towards the ceiling.

"I am sorry, but you make it impossible to resist poking your anger with a stick," Norah berated, the azure eyes that weren't hers turning towards him once again with arrogant gaiety.

Black scowled, finally holstering his weapon with a heated shove. "Keep playin' stupid games and go on and see what stupid prizes you'll win."

The baker clicked her tongue. "After the depressing night you both shared with each other, I thought a bit of humor would help ease you into the day."

"I ain't in the laughing mood," Erron spat back. "And if it wasn't her that you were in, you'd be getting a bullet right now."

Norah/Chaeomi scoffed dismissively at him. "I don't have a body for your bullet," the ghost lifted Norah's fingers, bringing them in front of her face and inspected them lazily. "I am simply vaper that borrows. A _parasite_ — like you said."

The gunslinger's jaw clenched painfully. "You done bull-shittin' around?"

The bright eyes of the baker glowed indifferently at him, but a frown adorned her face as she surveyed him. "You sound quite upset with me."

"I tend to get that way when I don't get my end of the bargain," Black shot back indignantly.

The specter cocked her head in confusion at him, "What do you mean?" The woman rolled on her side and propped an elbow while resting her chin in her palm. "Our deal is still ongoing. So why are you being so sour with me?"

"You know _exactly_ why..." Black seethed. He took a step forward, his eyes narrowing as he towered over the baker's form that lay like an aloof housecat on his bed. "And I thought _she_ was supposed to be with Ferra/Torr."

Norah's fingers drummed against the outside of her hip. "She still is. Ferra and Torr are indisposed now. So, what better opportunity to come talk to you? And despite what you think, I cannot choose _everybody_ I can be inside"— she waved a single finger at him, circling it in the air to indicate his entire person—"some are more resilient than others."

Black huffed bitterly before the baker rose and swung her legs over the side. The blue eyes looked coyly over her shoulder— the same one that was stained with a fresh coat of blood that soaked through the fabric of her dirty blue dress. "I don't think you would have liked to have woken up next to _Hulin_ instead and we both know how much you like women. I thought I was being generous."

Black's lip curled at her derisive teasing. The woman finally stood, her feet on the floor the only sound echoing in their intense ambiance in his room, before Chaeomi turned to the irate gunslinger. Her head tilted at him, not to mock, but with genuine curiosity. "What were you dreaming about last night?"

Erron felt a malignant eyebrow quirk up at her. "What? Can't read my mind?" he berated with a low growl.

The specter nodded in playful agreement. "I can. But I know you do not like it. I also think it is better if the person tells you themselves. More friendly, wouldn't you say? I would like us to be friends, Erron."

Black narrowed his eyes. "We ain't on civil terms," he reminded gratingly. "So why don't you just get to the reason why you're here since you ain't here to offer up Rain."

Chaeomi lifted a single shoulder; shrugging it innocently, "That is precisely _why_ I am here, Erron"— the ghost 'tsked' audibly— "Apologies. _Mr._ Black."

Erron turned his back to the ghost, "How nice of you to pony up now. Where were you before my meeting with the Kahn?"

He heard a sigh escaping from Norah's lips before he heard her sitting on the bed once again behind him; the perverse eyes of Chaeomi boring into the back of his head. "If I had told you before, I am afraid both you and Norah's outcomes would not be the same. It was beneficial for both of you for me to stay hidden in the meantime."

The mercenary narrowed his eyes at her cryptic statement, sensing a clandestine motive needled throughout her words. He didn't want to ask, feeling as if it was a ploy to keep him engaged in the bullshit game it was playing. However, it still pulled at his curiosity, reeling him in like an anchor being hulled back to a ship. As far as he was aware, the only participation Norah was to provide was nothing more than acting as an unwilling messenger and Chaeomi's bargaining chip to use against him for him to agree to her services. So far, both had been met. Though the inclination in her tone hinted at something else, as if Norah was to still be involved with his contract with the ghost, but he couldn't glue it together. Despite not knowing what it was, Black still felt exasperation knowing that the baker was still to be involved.

"I thought you were supposed to offer _peace of mind_ that she'd be fine—I thought _that_ was the deal," he rumbled, turning to look over his shoulder at her.

Chaeomi met his eyes with unrelenting frankness. "And she _is_ fine. If not for me, she would be dead today. Hulin would have killed her. A terrible accident that would have happened if not for me. Norah is very… impetuous."

The gunslinger narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "You seem to know for a certainty." He didn't know what to make of her wild confession. From his experience with the ghost, he suspected it to be nothing more than another parlor trick. So far, he hadn't shot off target in that assessment of Chaeomi. How could it possibly know Norah was going to die?

The baker leaned forward, placing her hands in her lap as she nodded firmly. "Because I do Mr. Black. I am not bound to the same sands of times as you are. Without a body… I can see shimmers into the future. I am dead and old— a Seer of Argus's people—from before Edenia merged with Outworld. I can see outcomes for my people, but only if the outcomes are worth noting. This bargain must be for some benefit of my tribe, otherwise, I'd simply let Rain be and you both would have remained the course. Norah dead and you penniless."

His eyes narrowed, recalling something from their previous conversation. "I _thought_ Rain was killin' your people. Turning them into slaves or whatever shit you were spewing before, and your _bleeding heart_ just _couldn't_ cotton it."

The specter paused and only conveyed inattention at his words, as if it hadn't heard them, before he noticed the corners of the baker's mouth tug in fluctuations; fighting to stop a humored smile. The marksman caught it, and Chaeomi acknowledged he had called her bluff by relenting and letting a soft laugh tumble from her lips. "I didn't _lie_ to you Mr. Black"—she sighed despondently— "but my people were already dying away before Rain. Though, he has been as petulant as a child and killed because of his... _princely_ nature."

The marksman stiffened angrily, once again feeling on the short end of the stick between them. "Why didn't you just spill that before?" he inquired with enmity.

"So, you would agree if you thought the situation was dire," Chaeomi confessed dourly. She frowned hard at him. "Although it is obvious you _still_ didn't when I told you. All you heard was that I had Rain. You filter and collect only the details that will help you get money faster."

Her eyes suddenly narrowed crassly at him. "Is _that_ why you are so impatient today? Eager to get on your way to get Rain so you can get gold back in your pockets?" The specter flashed a toothy grin at him. "Your favorite color, isn't it?"

"Don't push me," he warned, his eyes burning as he tilted his head towards her.

The demoniac inside of Norah chuckled brazenly as the baker's hand came up towards her neck, her fingers tracing lightly over the skin of her throat. "Or is there another reason you really want to see Rain dead?"

The gunman knew what she was hinting at, and he bristled at her presumption— one that was made even worse with Norah in front of him, yet not at all. "Was your mother the _only_ woman from your past you remembered when you saw Rain's hands on Norah's throat?"

The mercenary took a step forward, towering over the seated baker as his blue eyes darkened at her impolite brashness. " _Now_ you're steppin' too much in it."

Chaeomi crimped Norah's face into a diffident smile, and for the briefest of moments, the specter pulled back the blazing blue color from the girl's eyes, allowing her natural eye color to seep through before she blinked her eyes and the fluorescent cyan returned. "What does the color green _really_ mean to you?"

He couldn't help it, his hand shot out before he could remind himself of who the ghost was in. His hand went to her shoulder, slamming the woman back into the bed on her back with enough force to make the wooden frame move on its own. Norah gave no indication that what he had done had hurt her— not being able to feel anything with Chaeomi at the reigns—and only stared at him with placid surprise. He fumed above her; his breath heated as he lowered his face towards the ghost's charlatan eyes.

"I want him _dead"—_ Erron corrected with a furious scowl— "cause that's what I am gettin' paid to do."

Chaeomi raised a single eyebrow. "I believe what the Kahn wanted was for you to bring him back _alive_ — so he can burn him in the courtyard for all to see."

Black's hand tightened on the baker's shoulder, his body tense with livid exasperation. "Quit fucking with me and give me where he is!"

The baker's hand came to rest on the outside of the man's hand, and with a minuscule narrow from her eyes, he suddenly felt the back of his hand flare hot in pain. He hissed and pulled back, releasing the woman, as his eyes landed on the pink tinged skin on the back of his hand; burned literally from her touch as if her hand had been a hot coal.

"I am _still_ going to help you find him, despite how rude you are," Chaeomi seethed low, the first time displaying any anger towards him. "That was our bargain after all. But I do need _both_ of you if you want him."

He flicked his hand, as if swiping it through the air would alleviate the burn. "What are you talkin' about?"

The woman brought her thumb to trace across the outside of her bottom lip, a smile forming behind the digit briefly before she shook her head. "It's a bit… complicated, I'm afraid. You see, I cannot simply tell you. My premonition was quite clear, any other alterations and I disrupt its course. I can only participate so much."

"Ain't that just fucking convenient"—his fist tightened—"so you never were gonna say where he was," he pieced together, crisp anger in his veins.

The baker shrugged innocently, unafraid of his reaction. "It's difficult for me to carry a map without any hands. Vaper, remember? Besides, my tribe survives by preserving its anonymity, and I will not break its one rule for your sake."

He scoffed, his hands lowering to his guns in reflex to his irritation; his palms grabbed the handles and squeezed them tightly, knowing pulling them out would do nothing. "I knew you were snake-oiling me."

The corner of her mouth tugged dubiously at his comment. "Norah is still alive, isn't she?"

His eyes shot to the baker, candid ire blazing at her. "You got nothing but your word that she'd be dead."

"You thought the same for Sallie I believe," the ghost rebutted dryly, her eyes sympathetic regardless of her tone.

"She ain't no little girl," Black countered, his words hot as they left his lips in a low whisper.

Chaeomi blinked, "No. Norah wears no pretty little ribbons in her hair," the ghost licked her lips, and Black lifted his chin, an ugly scowl on his face.

"But Hulin _is_ the same as your Gray Man," the phantasm countered back, faithful to the opinion that Black thought the same of Norah's Edenian spouse. However, the gunslinger stepped forward; stopping inches from the bed as the demoniac remained seated over the edge.

"I think you've done enough rootin' around in my head," he fumed his warning.

The specter did nothing, the woman's body still, while the borrowed blue eyes danced over his angry mannerisms; noting his tight-pressed lips and how he still had his hands over his revolvers.

"Without Ferra/ Torr... how long do you think it will be until Hulin makes her sign his contract?" Chaeomi asked him impishly, her words heavy with a rhetorical undertone. The baker's hand shot out, her eyes never breaking contact with his, as her fingers hooked behind the buckle of his belt and pulled him to her. He grunted in surprise, taken aback by the sudden invasive action, as his hips came too close for comfort to the baker's face. The ghost's eyes shone brighter, glinting with playful devilment while the rest of her expression remained monotone. "If you _understand_ my meaning. It worries me how manipulative he is. It was _dirty_ being inside of him. She is not his first unwilling bride, by the way."

His face twisted in repulsion of the ghost vandalizing his personal space as he grabbed the woman's wrist, prying it from his buckle. He held it between his hand, bringing it to the woman's face as if she was a child caught with something she shouldn't have.

"What part of 'hands off' did you not get the first time?" he growled, his eyes reprimanding her bitingly.

The woman flashed a toothy grin at him. "I do apologize. That was a bit too forward, wasn't it? You cannot blame me for finding you handsome. Being dead gets quite lonely, and this is the only way I can get under your skin. You're too thick-skulled to possess."

"Lucky me," Black grumbled, releasing Norah's wrist and ignoring her flirtatious provocation.

"I would not take it as a compliment," the woman interjected. She huffed out a derisive chuckle. "I found it ironic when I found you in the jungle, how someone who was so readable on the outside, was so complicated on the inside. So banal in appearance yet has so much inside him that it is impossible to make room for anything else— let alone me."

The bounty hunter crossed his arms over his chest, "Maybe you're just not as good as you say," he sarcastically barbed. "But if I'm so _complicated_ that it keeps you outta my head, then fine with me."

"But you _are_ complicated, and I am starting to think that you don't even know it yourself," she responded pessimistically, almost as if in genuine concern. "When is the last time you gave into your memories?"

"We ain't discussing me," Erron fired back defensively.

"That is precisely the problem with you. You do not like to discuss yourself," Chaeomi assessed with a frown. "You can with me if you like. I already know some of your past. Despite how you want to keep it hidden."

"Don't recall ever giving you permission to know it," he scorned lowly. "So, don't even try it."

"You and Norah actually have that in common, you know," the possessed baker mused on, as if she didn't hear him. "You both try and bury things. That and you are both quick to anger."

"Is that right?" he chided sourly, his eyes to the wall of his room.

"Oh yes," Chaeomi nodded. "She hates green as well, you know. It was the same color as her mother's eyes."

"Do I look like I care?" he threw back, an incredulous eyebrow raised.

The woman paused, mulling over something silently to herself before she spoke again. "Would you like to know my opinion?" the specter asked, ignoring him.

"Not particularly," he answered back impolitely.

Chaeomi bit her lip, stifling a giggle at his caustic reply before she continued. "I see earth when I look at you. Covered in it, head to toe. You dig graves, but you never exhume them when needed. And instead of acknowledging the plots are too full, you simply pack on more dirt and hope they remain hidden in the earth. Not that you care about your bounties, those are reserved for a pyre and they get quickly forgotten. No, I mean the graves you dug yourself. Those are the ones that mean the most to you."

Erron said nothing; choosing to remain quiet and tense, as his shoulders rose up and down with every heated breath.

"By the time Norah came, your skeletons had already begun to disentomb themselves— that was why you wanted whiskey wasn't it? For your _itch_. And then you saw the color green again. You didn't like it, so you tried fighting with more earth"— the side of her mouth quirked up— "But unfortunately for you, Norah carried her own shovel, and started pulling dirt from your pile to bury her own plots. Not even aware that she was taking from you and set free your secrets. That's why you hated the poor girl. She's a gravedigger."

Silence drifted between the two at her assessment, incomparably heavy, and Erron found the words he had wanted to retort with dead as soon as they tried to arrive from his brain to his mouth. What was there to say? What could possibly admonish such indescribable bullshit as what was uttered from the ghost? It was quite unbelievable what he had heard. An insult. Possibly the stupidest metaphor he had ever had the displeasure of listening in on. He couldn't help but scoff insultingly at it.

"A gravedigger, huh?"

"Yes, forgive me, I thought it best to use a description you would understand well considering your lineage... and how you _still_ hang on to it."

The mercenary's eyebrows rose curtly, his teeth pressing together behind his tight-lipped mouth, but said nothing.

"Oh, and by the way Mr. Black, it is not an _insult_ if it is a correct observation," Chaeomi tilted her head in his direction pointedly. "It is isn't it?"

He huffed hotly, angered it had read his mind, as his eyes turned as hard and jagged as raw blue diamonds. ""I think we're _done_ sharing opinions, now. Cause trust me, you ain't gonna like mine for you when I tell it."

The baker let out a laugh at him, shaking her head, and flooding him with cold anger at the sound. She frowned at him as soon as her laugh died away. "I think I am aware."

A thoughtful glower crawled on the mercenary's face as he closed the separated gap between them. He placed his hands on both sides of her, towering above. "Since you know, and you got nothing else for me, why don't you hurry back to your piece of shit tribe you're apart of and crawl up Rain's ass."

The baker's eyes darkened at him, turning cobalt at his words, before they flashed back to their normal vibrancy. A scowl came on her face and he let the corner of his mouth lift with malicious boaster.

"Oh, did I strike a nerve— "

The baker's hand shot out, grappling him by the throat, and strangled him with a powerful crush. A garbled curse escaped the gunslinger, his hand wrapped around Norah's wrist that wouldn't move no matter how much he pulled and tugged. Chaeomi was stronger than him despite that her body was Norah's.

"Refrain from any rude words towards my people, Mr. Black," she said with blasé instruction, her face barren of emotion. "And since you do not want to be friends, then I will tell you how to get Rain and be on my way. And do not worry, I will not appear for some time."

He grunted, her slender fingers cutting off his air, as he felt the woman bring him closer to her face. He scowled at her, his face turning red as he felt Norah's nails dig into his skin.

"You want Rain dead, then keep Norah alive," Chaeomi abridged, her tone like glass sliding against a stone floor. "An amazingly simple rule. Follow it."

He coughed for air, his hand going to her shoulder to bunch the fabric of her dress under his fist, trying to push her off. "W-why?" he demanded with a growl. What did Norah have to do with anything?

"Not your future to know yet," she told him. "Or for her. So, keep quiet. You're good at that after all; shouldn't be too difficult."

The vein in his forehead jutted out as he started to choke for air to go down his throat, but the ghost didn't relent. Instead, Norah pulled him forward, moving his head to go over her shoulder so she could whisper in his ear. "Do good deeds and endure and you'll stay the course. Keep Norah alive and I promise you, you'll have Rain."

Her hand fell from his throat the same time her weight went slack, except, Erron didn't move to catch her just yet. His hand went to his throat, massaging it as Norah lay slump against him with her head braced on his shoulder. He coughed, sucking air down to his neglected lungs, and had expected the baker to wake from his body shifting with each cough of air he took in. Instead, she didn't move at all, and after a moment, he went to grasp her at the back of her head with his hand, pulling her face away from his shoulder.

She felt dead in his hand, her body threatening to loll back into the bed like a limp doll, as he kept her steady. He lifted his other hand and brought it to one of her eyelids. Prying her eye open, he saw her pupil grow small when light invaded her green eye. He let out a sigh, Chaeomi gone finally, but her words still lingered on the air like a melancholy song.

Air escaped his nostrils with an ire huff. What the hell did it mean? What was Norah to his bargain besides just a token? She wasn't supposed to be involved— he wasn't supposed to be involved any more than just getting her to Ferra/Torr. They were supposed to help her, not him. And how the fuck was he supposed to keep the stubborn woman alive? It made no damn sense. What couldn't it just tell him?!

"Goddamn it..." he whispered in a heated breath.

He wasn't supposed to be entrapped. He was better than this. He should have seen it coming. In fact, he _had_ seen it coming all along. He knew it, he just _knew_ it was up to something. But, because of the baker and his need to quell his own turbulent memory, and not make a repeat of it, he had been snared.

It pissed him off more than anything. Being lied to. Being played like some dimwit. Seldom did he find himself double-crossed with an arrangement. There had only been a handful of times, and each time he figured out he had been played for a fool, they were met with a bullet from his gun. But this time, there was no physical body, just the wind sneering at him; pushing him around in whatever direction it wanted to carry him in. Despite his malice towards Chaeomi, he had to wonder, how much of it was for show and how much of it was the truth.

From what he gathered; the being seemed more interested in the longevity of its people; reacting acrimoniously when he took a shot at its culture. With so much passion towards its kind, Black could attest to its genuine concern. He didn't believe it could predict the future, though, thinking it as nothing more than the other countless peddling soothsayers lining the streets of Z'unkahrah, high on narcotics and boasting their magical foresight.

However, it seemed quite assured that the unconscious woman was going to die. He didn't ponder on it when he first heard the testimony, thinking it as nothing more than a ruse. But at the same time, he wondered if that had been the whole endgame of the ghost from the beginning. Possessing the little girl at the People's Court to unearth his memory of Sallie before just bringing it up blatantly. It knew the parallels he would see even before he recalled Sallie, and instead of letting them pass by subtly for him— it heightened the memory so much he would have to say yes to its demands; pulling at his guilt with no remorse.

But Black cut through the theory. Why did he need to make a deal then? Couldn't it just have jumped into Hulin and tried to kill her in front of Ferra/Torr without making the deal? Or couldn't it just of possessed Hulin, moments from the final blow and stopped him? Why did he have to be involved in any of this?

_"I can only participate so much like I told you. Stay the course. I need both of you."_

Erron tensed when he heard the tweedle-like voice near his ear—the first-time hearing Chaeomi finally speak without a puppet. He panned around the room, looking for the source of the disembodied voice of his dealmaker. But, just as suspected there was nothing, and he wondered if he had even heard it, or if it had been nothing but a hallucinogenic affair. Maybe he was losing his goddamn mind by making deals with ghosts to save someone he didn't even like. He was Erron Black, he didn't participate in the contradictory; he scoffed and laughed at those that did, calling them fools.

He shifted his fingers, the same ones holding the baker's head up, as her hair tickled his palm. Gently, he let her head fall to the bed with his hand, only removing it once she was against the mattress. The woman didn't stir, but he saw her eyes flutter beneath her closed eyelids. The gunslinger stood to his own height, looking down at her with annoyed regard; his malignant thoughts not for her, but for the specter that had manipulated her limbs moments before.

There was something he didn't like about it using her body, and he wasn't sure if it was just distaste for the disembodied person, or that it knew that Norah would get the most reaction out of him more than anyone it could possess considering their rocky history. His latter theory, he didn't much care for, especially when he recalled the poltergeist's observation about him and Norah. That they were gravediggers. He flat out rejected it, so much so, his fist tightened at the echo of the word brought back to him.

He turned from the bed, heading towards his desk, and placed his palms against the flat surface of the wood, bracing his weight with his arms.

It didn't know him.

It didn't know a goddamn thing about him.

Its spewed nonsense like taunts of a trickster.

They were nothing to each other.

His jaw clenched, the muscle flexing beneath the skin of his cheek, as he pressed his teeth tightly together. He shook his head, trying to rid the abhorrent metaphor from him, and instead focused on the forced task at hand.

What did it mean to keep her alive?

What did it matter if she lived or not?

Besides the scuffle that took place in his room, what was Norah's possible connection to Rain?

Erron looked over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed in skepticism at the baker. She wasn't anything, he told himself. She had no knowledge of hunting bounties, or using weapons, or any aptitude to take on anything in his dangerous lifestyle, yet he was supposed to entrust everything on her shoulders.

He huffed loudly, his blue eyes turning back to the wall in front of him. He could do it himself— as he always had. Black didn't need the woman. Even if he did decide to heed the ghost's words, he suspected Norah to be more trouble than she was worth. He couldn't hunt Rain and keep her alive. And keep her alive from what?

Then he remembered Chaeomi's remark about Norah's husband…

"…Hulin _is_ the same as your Gray Man…"

He wanted to laugh. So that was it? Just keep the wife from her husband to keep her alive? He sneered angrily to the wall, as if the entity was in front of him. He'd have a better chance shooting dice with Satan at this point. Although he could execute the man in any manner he seemed fit, his hands were still tied by Kotal Kahn and Outworld law. He had no reason to just march to the man's room and kill him now. He was a palace employee, someone that had been around before Erron, and despite how deplorable the Edenian really was, he hadn't a lawful reason.

However, Chaeomi had seemed adamant in expressing her concern about the pair, and it caused the gunslinger to speculate that he'd be seeing much more of the domestic squabble than he had originally bargained for.

The girl whimpered in her sleep from behind him, but he didn't pay too much mind to it, until her whimpers became grieving moans. Black looked at her, his eyes over his shoulder once again, and watched as her chest heaved up in disjointed tugs towards the ceiling. Erron watched like an awkward bystander, forced to stand by as he noticed the corner of her eyes grow slick; tears.

An uncomfortable lump settled in his chest, watching her wail and thrash through her own night terror, knowing he had been doing the same the night before. But instead of remaining mute like he had, her lips moved. At first, they fluttered apart in light tremors, as if she was trying to unglue them as tears ran down her face and over the skin of her lips. She let out a choked bawl, one of her hands flying up as if it had been pulled on a string and swatted at nothing before the movement twisted her, causing her to roll away from him and show her back. His eyes fell on the bloody spot on her shoulder blade, Chaeomi's own brand, before he heard her mumbling a word he didn't catch.

With her legs dangled over the side and with just her torso on the bed, the shudders and jerky movements in her sleep had caused her to fall slowly off the bed. He sighed, walking over to where she was as she continued to fight in her own livid nightmare. He grasped her legs, his arms hooking underneath her knees and picked them up until the rest of her was on the bed.

He'd bring her back to Ferra/Torr later; he'd come up with some lie that they dumped her on him while they were away. The last thing he needed was more rumors drifting in the palace about him; carrying her unconscious would have certainly sprung more talk about him then he needed now. He had no patience for the aggravation. He suspected that Chaeomi's advice to keep Norah out of the loop was still in effect, despite that he hadn't made up his mind. So, he would tell her a lie when she woke up. The truth was far too long of a story to tell anyway, one that he simply hadn't the temperament to tell at the moment.

He shifted her, pushing her gently until she lay on her back. It was only then; did he hear the word she had said before more clearly.

"A.. a-abb ... abbi... a...Abigail..."

He stiffened at the name, knowing who she was calling to.

The old woman he had saved from Tama along with her.

Erron recalled the elderly woman. She was tenderhearted, could have been anyone's grandmother, but he had also detected an acute sadness with the woman. Something languishing as he had escorted her with Norah outside of the palace, to what was supposed to be their freedom. Or had it been? Did the woman know all along what was to happen to her after Black had taken them from their contract holder? Perhaps, not resolutely, but with enough of an inclination to accept it?

The baker murmured the old woman's name again; carried from her lips in a despondent whisper.

Had Norah?

He glanced over at the baker, her words running through his mind from when he dragged her out of the palace...

_"Please. They are going to kill her because she helped me..."_

...and back to the People's Courts with Hulin...

_"You murdered her! You son of a bitch— you murdered her!"_

Black had known Abigail had been dead for some time, but it hadn't been until this moment, until Chaeomi's admission about her fate did he understand, some of what had happened.

Tama and Hulin had killed the old woman to get to her.

Abigail had died because of her, and, because of Erron. He hadn't saved anyone; he had only postponed the woman's death for a short while, as well as gave Norah a small reprieve from her contract holders. What he did hadn't helped after all. He glowered, turning away from the bed to stride away with ire steps. Though he didn't understand _how_ the woman had died, it had to of been unexpected and horrific enough to haunt the ex-cupbearer and crush her under her own guilt. On their way back from the Coliseum, he had recalled that the woman hadn't even brought up the woman regardless of him inquiring or not. It was only until she had seen Hulin and Tama, did the memory resurface. But it had disappeared just as quickly. Perhaps it was simply because there had been too much going on, or she just did not want to talk about it, but Erron couldn't help but hear the ghost's words play back to him.

_"You both bury things."_

_"You dig graves, but you never exhume them when needed. And instead of acknowledging the plots are too full, you simply pack on more dirt and hope they remain hidden in the earth."_

Norah rolled on her side, her hand grasping at the sheets underneath as she cried into them— still asleep and still very much trapped in her once-dormant memory. Watching her writhe against her thoughts inside of her nightmare brought him once again back to Atchison. To Sallie and the Gray Man. To his recollection, he hadn't mourned any of them: Sallie, Abraham or Zachariah. Perhaps, it was because he was too young to understand the need to do so, or just like her, there had been simply too much going on.

The gunslinger's shoulders slumped.

But there had been a chance after Abilene.

Except... he never did there either.

Now, the ghosts of Abilene were nothing but blurred figures on the other end of a kaleidoscope. He buried them, but never mourned them, and maybe that was how it had been so easy for Chaeomi to manipulate him. A ghost that could see all of his.

The baker fidgeted in her sleep and glanced with at her with a strange sense of kindred gloom.

And hers as well…


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31  
** **White Foxes  
Part 1  
** _**Lighthouse** _

* * *

_Though coveted in the desert, the baker never did like water— especially bodies of it in any shape._

_Her dream was a series of interconnected tide pools; each one similar in expression yet teeming with different organisms. However, her barefoot trek across the pools—her goal to reach a distant and sandy stretch of land— was precarious._

_For it was a well-known conception in Outworld, that every resident and animal meant you harm— especially its aquatic ones. Each step into a different pool provided separate challenges and new foes, though their goal was the same._

_Norah grimaced and cried through each one, her feet cutting open as she stepped on coral and felt crustaceans and fanged-toothed fish bite and pinch at the flesh of her calves and feet._

_Something clammy wrapped around her ankle suddenly, halting her in place when she reached the edge of one of the pools._

_The baker tried not to look down, for she knew it wasn't crabs or octopi that were holding her._

_Each pool she treaded through had its own meal, one made of flesh and not scales or aquatic armor. On the shores of Outworld, dead bodies nearly always accompanied the seaweed during the low swell, and their presence in the deep, hazardous tide pools were no different._

_Norah looked down, her countenance one of trepidation; she hated water—abhorred it—because she never learned how to swim. Greeting her, his hand peeled and rotted, was a man she recognized all too well holding her._

_Bert's eyes stared up from under the rippled water, crabs and fish swimming and nibbling around him. The deceased man stared at her ironically with lively eyes considering his decomposed state, and she shivered with fear as the girl reached down and did her best to uncurl his finger from her skin. Bert's mouth opened under water, his jaw wide enough to allow the crab that had been inside to scuttle across his face, before she released his hand from her with a grunt._

A small distressed whimper escaped her as she rolled on her side in Black's bed…

_The baker ran haphazardly through the ankle-deep water, her arms outstretched as her panicked stride caused her to splash water around from her. The woman finally grasped the edge of the tide pool, swinging her legs over and cutting her flesh on coral as she made her way to the next pool— this one deeper than the other one._

_Norah felt something, or rather,_ _**someone** _ _push her face forward into the water and she disappeared under the surface. But as soon as she rose, standing now waist-deep, she realized it wasn't water anymore._

_The new tide pool had changed, formed into a different vessel and filled with something that was hot and dense on her skin. The rust colored liquid was thick and choked her like syrupy, warm mud. It entered her mouth, coating the inside and despite that it was repulsive in texture, it tasted remarkably savory and filling; delicious._

_The baker spat it from her mouth as soon as it hit her tongue, nearly to the point of vomiting when it went down her throat. She gasped for air as it covered her head, hair, face, and torso without regard if she could breathe or not. Her hands wiped over her face, pulling the liquid from her eyes so she could see._

_Norah looked down and screamed._

_Bobbing around her were detached body parts from a singular woman. They floated and bumped into her; legs, a half-severed torso, arms and feet. All of them buoyant as if they were vegetables in a macabre soup. The baker fled through the pool, her feet pushing against the dense weight of the liquid's resistance as she pumped her arms for momentum._

Tears pricked out of the corner of her eyes in her sleep and she whined audibly enough to catch the gunslinger's attention from the balcony…

_The baker let out a frightened yelp when her feet connected to nothing, hitting a deep socket, and sinking into it. Her feet touched the bottom the same time her chin connected to the surface of the pool and on instinct, the woman raised her chin up; trying her best to stay above._

_Norah tiptoed delicately along the bottom, wary for other unexpected holes that would suck her under the surface completely and drown her. She was close…almost to the edge until she halted in her tracks…_

_A woman's head slid to the surface, as if her presence had caused it to detach from the bottom. It bounced lightly before it came to a pause, but it still rotated towards her…_

_The baker screamed mournfully as she stared into Abigail's face…_

… _at the same time, she felt someone grab her by the shoulders._

Norah thrashed, bawling loudly as tears spilled over her closed lids, while her palms came up and attacked blindly. Her fists hit hard muscle while the hands that grasped her shoulders held her just enough to grab her attention. She thought she heard her name called, despite the shrill volume of her scream, and it eased her gradually like a balm; her scream tapering off from startled caterwauls, to whimpers and then finally to gasping inhales. The baker worked to collect her breath first, her palms resting against the pectorals of a man's clothed chest…

She opened her eyes immediately, still brimmed with tears, and made out the foggy outline of Erron Black hovering over her, holding her upright in a bed with him grabbing her shoulders in each hand.

"Relax," he told her, his tone as composed as smoothed stone.

Norah breathed greedily for air, sucking it down despite her throat felt twisted and dry. Eventually air entered her lungs and her tears dissipated to see the mask-less gunfighter clearly.

But, despite that she knew she was awake, the baker felt as if she was in yet another lucid dream; where she woke up was unfamiliar, yet _so_ familiar to her. She didn't believe she was in his room, only because the last place she had recalled was Ferra/Torr's barren garden that served as their room in the palace. She fell asleep against the tree, her nerves fried to the point of exhaustion…

And now she was here…

His body was firm under her palms and she used them to brace against his chest lightly— not to throw him off her because she was repulsed by his presence, but because she needed to make sure he was real and that she really was in his room.

Her eyes narrowed in abrupt confusion.

_WHY_ was she in Erron Black's room?

Her brow then furrowed into a hard line.

And on his _BED_?

Her fingers flexed against his chest and she pulled her palms straight back from him slowly. Her breath shuddered as she looked around his room with abashment; from the balcony, to his table and to the door of his washroom— everywhere but looking directly into his face.

"How… how did I get here?" she finally breathed out, her voice trembling with discomfiture.

Norah swallowed, finally noting how much her nightmare made her perspire as sweat rolled from her forehead and into her eyes; stinging her as she blinked and lifted her hands to wipe them away.

Suddenly she grimaced, her head pounding like a hammer had batted at her skull the day before. Her eyes squeezed shut, forgetting about Black as she used the other arm to keep herself propped on the bed as she rubbed her palm over her aching forehead. By the Gods, she felt horrible, and it wasn't just her head. Her whole body felt stiff and achy, though she made the internal argument most of it was from the Vaults. The woman shuddered involuntarily, anger brimming up at the memory. She had never seen a Naknada before and hoped never to again…

She didn't open her eyes again until Black's hands lifted from her the same time he rose from the bed; she had not even noticed he had been sitting on the edge until he had gotten up and the mattress had shifted slightly.

The woman stared at him, simply watching his slow retreating form that went towards his desk while she sat on his bed. The baker looked down at the mattress, to the sheets and even to the pillows with awkward befuddlement, feeling improper and alien to be sitting on them. It almost felt like a transgression, one that made her skin crawl anxiously. For the main reason being that she had no idea how she had gotten there in the first place and why.

He walked back to her, turning from the desk with a water goblet. The mercenary carried it, his demeanor unreadable but not harsh, and held it out to her when he got close enough to reach her. She swallowed, her throat feeling like dry leather, and paused long enough for him to have to say something.

"Take it. You need it more than I do," he offered evenly.

She exhaled and rose her hand, and as soon as he handed it over, she looked at him pointedly. "You have not answered my question," she asserted, her voice a stern whisper. "Why am I here?"

Air exhaled out his nostrils, the sound barely a light gust, as he eyed his desk and walked towards it; addressing her as soon as he flopped down in his wooden chair.

"Ferra brought ya by," he explained dryly. "Torr and her had business elsewhere."

Black picked up one of his revolvers, his back leaning into the frame, and dusted over it with a clean red rag. Meanwhile, the baker tapped a single finger on the outside of the copper colored cup, her eyes slanted at his back. "So they carried me— when Torr can barely fit in some hallways—and through the palace to your room when they could have left me by their tree…all of this while I was _asleep_?"

The Kahn's guards hand stilled over the barrel for a brief second, his head turning minutely towards her direction before he sighed and looked back to cleaning his revolver. "Nobody ever said they were smart."

Norah tilted her chin in his direction, an incredulous eyebrow raised. "And you just…said yes?"

"You rather I leave you sleepin' in the hallway?" he asked her rhetorically.

_No._ She answered silently in a brief thought, but her eyes still stayed narrowed in suspicion towards him.

"I am a light sleeper and this all seems a bit… _odd_."

She finally took a sip of her water, inviting it finally to ease her ragged throat, while she contemplated the seemingly innocent, yet outlandish explanation.

He said nothing, his hand holding the rag moving over the gun with slowed strokes; almost as if he was mulling over it as well.

She would have accepted his explanation, it there was not one thing she could not wrap her mind around. It being why Ferra/Torr would choose to bring her to _Black's_ room.

Although her single night stay had been acceptable, albeit nerve-wracking considering the quick-change temper of the symbiotes, they had told her with serious assuredness that she could stay with them as long as she wanted.

Albeit they were somewhat dull-minded, they were fiercely determined about their promise. They wanted her with them— seeing her as their friend. And as they had demonstrated, they protected their friends tooth and nail.

Honestly, she had been surprised by their attack on Hulin, but Ferra had related to them they thought he was 'Icky and Creepy' and that 'Bread Lady' could stay with them in their room until Hulin changed his mind. It was all sweet, and she was humbled by their help, but she knew that Hulin would never leaver her alone.

The baker remembered the first thing the girl had done, after they had dismounted from Torr, was Ferra grabbing Norah by the hand and guiding her to their trunk.

They spent the rest of the night showing her their exotic collection: everything from eyeballs, to skeletal limbs of Tarkatan arm blades, to Shokan shields and various knick-knacks collected from bounties; most of them small and mundane. Torr had hovered over them, sitting right above Norah, and she could still feel and smell his breath ghosting down upon her smaller form behind her like hot air from a towering dormant, _sulfuric_ volcano, all the while Ferra told her each and every story related to each item.

Norah had been patient, letting the girl relate their adventures to them—some of them genuinely interesting—but had fought tiredness. It had taken Ferra a bit to notice, but eventually, she had barked at Norah, asking why 'Bread Lady bored' until the baker explained she was listening but just very tired. In all honesty, the ex-cupbearer had expected the girl to reprimand her harshly, but Norah had been surprised by her understanding; simply nodding bluntly and saying 'Go sleep. Tell more tomorrow'. The woman had fallen asleep faster against the tree than she realized she was capable of doing, especially with the hulking behemoth and its rider nearby playing catch with a bare Tarkatan skull; passing it back and forth between them with glee.

With what had occurred, and Ferra being adamant that she would speak more with her in the morning, Norah had a hard time believing anything that Black was saying.

Also, there was something off about him. He seemed more reserved—quieter— in tone and body language as if he were stepping across coals. It was strange, and even though they were on better terms since the Coliseum—after he had taken her place and she had helped him with the bugs in his back—they still did not trust each other.

In a way, she pictured their feelings now towards each other the same as the day they met; back at the tavern. There was mistrust, but a sense of brusque cordiality; only saying what needed to be said. There was still one difference from that first day however, and it being they had history. They knew each other more, were able to read more of what the other was thinking and not willing to leave it a mystery…

And it had been no mystery to her that he had been keeping certain things from her.

It had started with their trek back to the palace and their conversation on the outside of the building where he had taken her to get food, which had been a nice gesture, up until she had been outside with him. He withheld an explanation as to how she had gotten there and why there was a wound on her back.

Norah took another sip of her water, her eyes still on the back of his head. She wasn't stupid, and although she told him she accepted his story, the baker still believed it to be nothing more than a lie.

Ever since the Coliseum, he had shown another side of himself and the cupbearer was able to tell with more clarity when he was lying to her— he had done it twice now—and she had caught on to the same mannerisms each time. His tone was the biggest giveaway. It was if he didn't even believe what he told her. It almost felt strained on the way out, as if he had regret despite it was hidden well under his usual stoic baritone. On top of it all, his explanations were just hard to swallow in general.

_"You tripped and hit your head. Knocked ya out cold and a lit candle fell on ya from the bar."_

Was that really the best he could come up with?

The baker sipped her water once more, the sound echoing about his room.

Norah's eyes drifted over his back, the mercenary donning one of his dark sleeveless undershirts, and frowned when she noticed the tip of one of his wounds from the whip peak out from his shoulder and stop where it connected to the top of his arm. It was darkly scabbed—fading away— but was still ugly as if someone had painted tar with a slender brush on him. The woman cleared her throat uncomfortably, her eyes blinking as she stared down at the water in her cup.

It was all still an enigma to her; one that she knew would always be unsolved despite he had given her a simple enough answer to the riddle. He had taken her place… and her chest felt tight— gnarled with uneasiness— remembering his looks to her… his back peeling open… and the look of pain on his face he endured… just so she would _finally_ believe his apology.

It made her feel as if she was cruel; letting him take the whip and not objecting to it. But he had been so adamant—so willing to forgo the luxury of his own self-preservation and his name… just so she knew he was really and _genuinely_ apologizing to her.

The ex-cupbearer traced a dirty thumb along the rim of the goblet, remembering something Abigail had written to her as soon as they had gotten settled with Guang and his wife—after her old lamp-lighting friend had been caught up on her stay in the palace.

_**A man like him apologizes differently.** _ _  
__**The only way he can.** _ _  
__**Through actions, not words.** _ _  
__**You should have thanked him.  
He didn't do it for me.  
He did it for you.** _

It was hard to object to what Abigail had written to her, and she had been surprised by Black saving Abigail as well. She had asked him to—begging and crying— and he had done it. He had done something selfless…for her.

But she had been so angry with him for everything, still so trapped in her own turbulent mind, to even recognize that she hadn't even uttered a thank you to him in the street. Even if she did finally thank him for it back at the Coliseum—as well as thanking him for taking the whip—she still felt a clogged tension between them; thick and gritty.

She was beginning to wonder if it had something to do with them making new transgressions towards each other, written on the wall and pretending to be ignored. Norah wondered if he was disdainful about taking the whip, wishing he could recant his decision, even though he had accomplished his objective. Perhaps he didn't feel regretful about the action itself, but the consequences its aftermath brought on him— and possibly resenting her for it.

"Does… the…does the Emperor know?"— she cleared her throat— "About what happened?"

The gunslinger's hand stopped, his shoulders sagging from her question, as she heard him exhale through his nose slightly. He looked at the revolver, inspecting its sides before he placed it in on the table and uttered a blunt: "Yea. He knows."

Norah sighed as well, feeling despondent and anxious by his answer. The mercenary left his hand by his revolver, a single finger tapping the wood soundlessly; both of them encased in the uncomfortable mood that had blanketed when Norah had asked him.

"Are…"— the baker hung her head— "Are you… alright?"

Black suddenly stilled, his finger stopping as the pad rested on the wood, while he remained so immovable and quiet that she felt herself hold her breath. He sucked at his teeth, his shoulders sagging until he replied listlessly "Just peachy."

The baker blew air through her nostrils, her brows furrowing as she stared at her reflection in the water. Suddenly, she felt extremely uncomfortable sitting on his bed, feeling as if her presence had worn out its required stay, as she swung her legs over the side. But she didn't pick herself up from the mattress just yet, her feet feeling like cumbersome boulders she couldn't move.

She didn't know what to do or say, all she knew was that it was her fault for whatever the Emperor had done to him. She was supposed to be a nobody in the Kahn's eye, and yet she had made a mess of things even if Black's actions to her were awful.

The girl scratched the back of her neck with her fingernails. "I'm sorry."

The mercenary said nothing, his body hardly moving except for the gentle rise of his torso from his breathing; if not for that, she would have thought she was talking to a tombstone. She smoothed over the back of her neck, grimacing at how greasy her hair felt under her palm before she finally rose to her feet. The woman looked down at the water again, watching as it rippled from the fidgety movements of her fingers, before she finally felt control of her legs; as if the limbs themselves had been hesitant to approach him as well. She walked towards him, her feet shuffling soundlessly over the stone like the edge of curtains brushing against the floor before she stopped just slightly behind his chair.

Norah swallowed before she brought the goblet to sit on the edge of the table, returning it back to him. "Thank you…"

Honestly, as she turned to walk towards his door, she wasn't sure what she was thanking him for: for him giving her water or expressing her gratitude for facing the whip's repercussions. It seemed he didn't know either, and she felt his eyes on her back as she walked towards the door. She made it about halfway across the room before he addressed her with a doleful monotone: "I knew what was comin'…"

Now, it was Norah's turn to stand motionless. Even though his words were supposed to be a reassurance that what had happened to him was expected, it still didn't make her feel less guilty about it. In fact, it made her feel worse. He had agreed to it, knowing that his employer would be upset with him, and yet he _still_ did it. Black had to be aware of the sacrifice, and his admission alone was enough for her to understand he truly did.

After the whip, she had heard other spectators laughing and mocking him as they dragged his unconscious body through the sand. How his blood ran down his back and how it was nice to see him 'get what he deserved.' It had stung her, hearing it. He was still being punished even after the initial beating—one that if she had taken, there would have been a resolute conclusion to and would have ended as soon as the last strike of the whip fell on her skin instead of his.

The gunslinger was still apologizing it seemed, whether he wanted it to progress or not. The knowledge of her own culpability burned and hollowed inside her chest at the thought and she felt it raze through all her pernicious feelings of him that she constantly harbored.

Despite the two lies he told her—and she knew they were—they were a pittance on the scale; outweighed by his good deed in the Coliseum for her. She always felt that she had never really thanked him quite properly; the spoken apology she had given him before nothing but a prelude to the real thing. And she knew it back then, but her thoughts had been stolen by Hulin and she hadn't had a chance to analyze it fully until now.

Norah turned back to him, both of them regarding each other with an awkward and melancholy countenance towards the other. As much as she disliked his character, finding most of it to still be quite arrogant, she had to acknowledge her gratitude for displaying the rarity that was his selfless side. But she couldn't think of anything that would suffice. The woman had nothing to offer; she was penniless, covered in grime-covered borrowed rags and didn't even own her own freedom.

Her eyes landed on the gun on his table, the one that he had been polishing and her memory inadvertently recalled back to the scene in her room, when he had cocked it ready to kill her. Before she had placed his own pistol to his head as revenge, she always remembered him in her room in the middle of the night; how much hate he had for her, and how badly he had wanted her gone. However, there was one singular moment during the encounter that resonated the most.

_"Do you even know my name?"_

He didn't. She was a nameless hinderance to him that he couldn't scratch and label on a bullet. Perhaps, that was why he couldn't do it, but what had perplexed her— and angered her in the moment—was the day after.

He had asked for her name…

_"I never did get your name..."_

Trying to apologize...

_**In his own way.** _

Abigail's written sentence hadn't had much resonance in her mind at the time; it represented nothing more than an abandoned link missing its chain. But after the Coliseum, her words began to attach to her more; connecting and forming a strong rope even if it only consisted of two or more pieces. It was still growing though; more and more good deeds being added to it…

_"And you never will..."_

Her words shot back to him. Appropriate at the time, but now feeling heavy on her.

Perhaps, it was time for her to add her own link as well.

The only one that she had to offer anymore…

"Norah."

Erron Black blinked blankly at her but his posture noticeably stiffened the same time her's went slack after a long, deep exhale. The woman grimaced, her throat feeling as choked and full if she had a bag of rocks lodged in it. She swallowed, her fingers pulling at a loose thread at the hem of her sleeve. He didn't say anything from his chair, his eyes regarding her with a calm, but contemplative concession; the floor was hers to continue and he'd wait by with civil patience.

She lifted her chin, nodding her head minutely, before meeting his gaze dead on with mellowed determination. "My name is Norah."

He said nothing, his head turning away from her to stare off to the side, while his thumb brushed along his other fingers in a semi-enclosed palm; silently pondering over something that was exclusively for him to know alone.

What was there to say anyway? Her offering her name was about as uncomfortable and taxing as he probably felt asking for it back then. He didn't express anger or joy after finally knowing it—he didn't express any emotion at all— but she could tell he was inwardly.

His eyes betrayed him. They stared off, clouded, while his visage remained blank. His thoughts were elsewhere—out of the present and into the past—and recollecting the same memory she had but from his own point of view. It was evident he had the same antipathy for it as well, especially when she saw the faintest narrow of his eyes that landed suddenly on his firearm; regret for putting the gun to her head? But slowly, she saw his hand uncurl from its laxed fist and lay placidly on top of the table. A silent sigh escaped him, his shoulders dipping as if the weight of her name was its own heavy chain link on top of him.

With a small roll of his shoulders, as if lifting them off, he briefly flickered his eyes to her before he stared ahead at the wall once more.

"Erron."

A brief smile pulled at each corner of her mouth, as quick as lightning, as a disbelieving gasp of air fell from her lips like she had coughed up water from her lungs. Her green eyes blinked while a pained grimace flexed across her features.

She hadn't expected a name to be given back in return; he didn't need to. But there was so much within the exchange of simple designations than just mutual hellos. There was conclusion; one sought after by both of them. As if the cede was the final despondent words on a turbulent chapter. She couldn't say the next chapter in their shared book looked any promising, but at least its opening words (their names) offered comfort…and yet discomfort.

They were just names… nothing more.

Suddenly, she felt like she was drowning again. This time, there wasn't a drop of water in sight. No tide pools, no beach, no bodies…just a lighthouse. But its light was blinding, scorching, and made tears fall from them when she looked directly head on. It provided no assurance; no warmth and it was still too far off in the distance and she couldn't swim. She refused to go towards it. It was nothing but a false beacon.

"I'll…"— she turned sharply away from him, wiping a single tear that ran down her face— "Do you know… when they will be back?"

"No," was his answer after a pause.

The baker fidgeted her hands, when she realized her dilemma. She couldn't return to Ferra/Torr's room. Their door was constantly unlocked— the bolt was on the other side of the door; anyone could enter but she could not keep anyone out. She knew that Hulin wouldn't stop either. As soon as he heard they were gone, he'd send a guard to collect her. Then there would be no escape from him.

She thought of Carver and Bao, thinking them as promising islands of hope, but it was dashed from her when he knew that they could offer little in means of protection if Tama found out they were hiding her. Besides... she didn't want anyone else getting hurt or dying because of her.

But, she couldn't be with Black either.

Erron said nothing, instead she heard him lift himself from his chair as she walked towards the door— his footsteps fleeting towards his balcony. Norah touched the handle, but before she opened it, she turned to peer over her shoulder at him one last time.

His arm braced akimbo against the frame above his head as he gave her his back; staring off into the distance. The other hand rested against his hip, just to have somewhere to place it. Light spilled over the outline of his form like an autumn halo as the sun began to set on the capitol, the light going past him to shine into her eyes. Norah squinted against the light, turning away from him to look back at the solid wood of the door; preferring its dark appearance over the ring of light bypassing the gunslinger to her.

Norah shook her head, twisting the handle in her palm.

_A false beacon._

Her hand dropped, her shoulders slumping.

But it was the only one she had.

"Can… can I stay here? Just until they get back?" she asked tentatively. Her words feeling like heavy marbles dropping from her mouth. The baker turned back to him the same time his head tilted to the side, the corner of his eye regarding her before he gave a simple nod.

"Food's your's if you want it," he drawled flatly, his eyes back towards the sun again.

She nodded, her feet shuffling towards his desk before she sat softly down in it as if the chair itself was made of delicate glass. The woman stared at the plate of food in front of her, sighing at the familiar handiwork of Carver's cooking and taking note that her bread that accompanied his meals was missing. Her appetite detached from her— pried by her own solemn thoughts—as the pair bathed together in their awkward silence.

"Thank you..." she confessed finally, feeling a need to fill the void. She gulped, blinking rapidly before she decided to test the waters, "Erron."

Again, he remained silent, but his posture became rigid at the sound of his name from her.

Her fingers pulled towards the plate, needing something to distract herself, and began picking at the food; bringing tiny mouthfuls to her lips and chewing languidly. Once again lost in dour contemplation.

She could understand why she was so uncomfortable being around him, but what was he hiding from her? Why was he so frigid to her presence now? What had happened to make his natural distaste for her run cold? Would she ever know? Or would it remain buried forever under snowfall without the promise of spring? Perhaps it was for the best. She assumed, despite his physical appearance destined him for desert environments, she could speculate that he liked winter and often longed for snow; it halted things. Froze them in time like his age; preferring to live in suspension. However, she wondered how much he longed to do it now, with her uncomfortably in his room. Maybe he did want spring after-all; something to unthaw them both from their awkward stagnation.

Black was the first to cave into it, but he allowed her the luxury of a full stomach first; waiting patiently for her to finish before he walked over to her. He looked down at her, his eyes softly but critically taking in her haggard appearance before his nostrils sniffed the air between them. Norah looked down at her lap, knowing he was assessing over his disheveled state. It had been a while since she had anything close to a bath— not even a chance to wipe grime and sweat away with a rag— since the Vaults.

The corner of his mouth flickered to the side for the briefest of seconds, as if a sudden thought occurred, before he eyed the door.

"Follow me," he instructed, walking around her and the chair. Her brow furrowed as she stood, however she remained by the chair; waiting for an explanation from him.

He stopped when he noticed her staring at him, trying to assess what he wanted but failing to. He frowned again at her appearance and explained: "One thing you need more than grub, is a bath."

The baker smiled dimly at him, acquiescing softly as her hand tugged and pulled at the cord of leather that kept her disheveled bun together. A curtain of dark, greasy hair fell and landed on her shoulder; sighing at the weight of the rat's nest that sat on her head. "For once I agree with you."

Erron stared at her, the corner of his mouth tugging lightly at the state of her chaotic hair. He rose an appeased eyebrow towards her. "Whatta ya know…Hell _can_ freeze over after all."

She bit the inside of her cheek. "I am afraid you lost me."

He rolled his eyes lightly at her:" Meanin' that _you_ finally agree with _me_ on somethin'."

The baker scoffed sardonically at him before she shrugged a single shoulder at him. "Just this once…"

The walked out together, him leading the way, as she kept her eyes on everything but his face.

A beacon… maybe not a false one after all…

At least she hoped.

* * *

**A/N:** Disclaimer: This work is a labor of love and in no way own any of the properties except my own original characters. Feel free to leave feedback if you want. Hope you enjoyed the product and thank you for reading. I also have a tumblr under the same name and a FF.net account that shares the same name.

Thanks and as always, see you next chapter.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32  
** **White Foxes  
Part 2  
** _**Tunnel Vision** _

* * *

There were still vast areas of the palace that had been either unexplored or forbidden to the former servant, and as she followed Black through the winding descending corridors and dark-stoned passageways, Norah was absolutely certain she was in uncharted territory. Even escorted by the Kahn's guard, and despite being a former employee of the Kahn's palace, she felt more akin to an unwelcome vagabond exploring through someone's grandiose home.

The ex-maid looked towards her tattered sleeves, the strings hardly discernible in the flickering torch-light hanging from the walls, as their footsteps echoed off the black and rust colored marbled stone staircase. She had never seen the type of building block used to construct the passageways but didn't need to. She could already identify what it was.

Bloodstone.

The word sent trepidation through her, despite she was in equally dangerous company; she was safe, but still not at all at ease. Unfortunately, she still felt fear for the stone more— a habit more than anything.

Bao had told her in her first few weeks of coming to the palace to be wary of the color— that she needed to pay close attention to the stone passageways she was in. It was a secret, and useful passed-along trick between servants and it had saved many of them from being beheaded.

Tan colored stone was devoid of danger. They were free to all and as harmless as the sand beneath their feet in the desert; anyone could walk on it.

Norah touched the spot where her uniform necklace used to hang while she worked as a cupbearer…

Faded turquoise stones were safe if you were permissioned first to wear the color. Her necklace had served as an easily identifiable pass to the guards that she could walk by its walls.

Her green eyes stared warily along the charcoal-colored walls; each crimson glimpse of subtle swirling color sending a minimal spark of trepidation through her.

Bloodstone, however….

The corner of her mouth tugged bitterly to the side. The brick that surrounded them caused dread to sink its talons into her; making the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

She was grateful that the hardened mercenary had his back to her; she didn't want to display weakness to him over something he would consider so inconsequential.

Unfortunately, the type of stone she was adjacent to wasn't as _frivolous_ to her.

Bao had simplified it and made it hauntingly easy to remember: _"They say it was just obsidian rock at one point, but received its red color from the blood of servants, slaves and trespassers caught where they were not supposed to be."_

She was not naïve— it was a ghost story. A warning told in a poetic riddle and nothing more. Norah also knew, as well as many Outworlders did, to pay heed to allegories. In Outworld, there was always a deadly lesson associated with any macabre tale in the realm; someone always paid the price, and their story was a warning for any future troublemakers.

For a moment, she envied the Kahn's guard's indifference.

Black didn't have to pay heed to anything irrelevant due to his heightened station. He could do whatever he pleased in the palace with seemingly no repercussions.

She had no such luxury, even as his cupbearer.

The baker frowned at the thought of her former occupation— one that she wasn't even sure she had anymore due to her unforeseen, and unwelcome marriage. Not that she enjoyed her time being a cupbearer. She had nothing but bad memories and a brand stamped on her flesh forever to serve as evidence of her time as one. The only thing that came out of it that was any benefit, was her kinship with Ferra/ Torr… and what had happened in the Vaults…

The baker sucked in a shaky breath, trying to push down the memory of the prison that unfortunately, ended up being traded for a somewhat similar and equally disgusting memory of a revelation to surface in its place.

Norah had found out the purpose of why Tama had wanted her in such a position after she had asked Abigail. It had been nothing but good fortune that the old woman even knew the answer; she hadn't expected her to know at all. She had remembered them sitting together in their shared room at Guang's house, and she had thrown out the question like a fisherman's line; not expecting to gain anything from her attempt but had to try regardless.

But the older Earthrealm woman had known and had wrote it down for her, and what she had written had made Norah sick. Even thinking of the words now made bile creep up in her throat as she continued to walk behind Erron.

_**It was nothing but a trick to get you to the Kahn's Day Feast.** _ **You would have had to attend, instead of baking bread in the back.**

And Tama's buyer's would have been in the crowd, bidding over you while you weren't even aware you were on an auctioneer's block.  
It is not the first time she has tried with other girls, but you were the only one that made it through Hulin.

It disgusted her, and frankly, after discovering Tama's true intentions, she was thankful that she was no longer required to serve as a cupbearer…

She let out a heated scoff, the curt sound echoing off the wall.

However, she had a feeling she no longer had her position, was because she was _married_ now.

The former servant wasn't even sure what her position in the palace was anymore, now that she was the unhappy spouse to a highly respectable palace employee. What was she to the walls? A trespasser? Or an authorized entity simply because she was Hulin's wife? Or… was she just Erron Black and Ferra/Torr's guest?

The woman bit the inside of her cheek in thought and looked to the walls again, staring at them with less uneasiness and more subtle befuddlement.

He must have sensed her doubt, because he turned to her suddenly, and it was only then did she notice that their distance had grown; the space created when her steps had slowed due to her encompassing thoughts.

"What is it?" he asked.

The baker twisted her hands together in front of her; green eyes cast warily along the dark stone and then back to him, before she explained: "I am not usually supposed to be in this part of the palace."

"It's fine," he avowed plainly.

She gave a diffident shrug of her shoulder at him. "For you, perhaps. I might be beheaded if caught down here."

"You don't need to worry about it," he promised, his eyes blinking languidly as if the conversation bored him.

Her lips pressed tight together, regarding him with a skeptical expression before she looked about the stone corridors. Still not entirely convinced.

"You act as if I'm snakeoiling you," he observed. His eyes studied her, before he raised a dubious eyebrow. "You've never done any wanderin' about?"

Norah shook her head. "I went to work and then to bed. Nothing more."

"Exciting," the gunslinger drolled; his tone conveying the complete opposite of the word. "Figure you'd be up late, digging an escape hole with a spoon."

The baker let out a small bark of laughter, one that surprised her hearing it as it did him. She looked at the wall, biting her lip as she replied: "I thought about it, but I never did find a spoon suitable."

He smirked at her joke as she met his eyes, blinking plainly as their shared amusement quickly faded, before explaining indifferently: "Not all of us are privy to doing anything as luxurious as walking about freely. It's why I hated being a servant so much. You were never free to do anything. I was given no choice but to be anything but obedient coming here. Otherwise, I was dead. You and Tama just made everything worse."

He sighed through his nose strongly, as if thinking she meant to insult him; he had dragged her to the palace.

Norah quickly rose a hand, waving it at him to assure him she meant it indirectly.

He seemed to let it slide, assessing her after a moment as seeing she didn't mean to, and clarified: "Regardless of why you hated me, almost all of it was of Tama. She paid you. Manipulated you just like me to get me here. Otherwise, we both would not be here."

The bounty hunter said nothing, but she saw him grimace, and in turn she did the same. The truth was, he had made things worse when she came to the palace, but the only difference was that she was keener to forgive him given the chance than if it was Tama. To her, the woman would be nothing more than a monster, and there had been more than one occasion the gunslinger expressed remorse.

"She was good about making me know and feel my station. So… it is hard to be in these walls, and not just regarding the bloodstone…" she placed a palm on the wall, letting its cold and smooth surface rub against her skin as she slowly trailed it down. Her thoughts to her tumultuous past. "I feel like a servant again... being here, even though… I'm nothing now."

Her gaze cast downward. She wasn't sure why she had told him any of what was on her mind. Frankly, she didn't think he even cared. The baker could feel his eyes on her, judging her confession with stoic silence, and it made her want to sink into the floor. He probably just saw weakness looking at her, and perhaps it would have been better to keep her solemn thoughts bottled with the lid screwed tight and never to be opened. But… she had opened it. And she hadn't the slightest clue why.

She heard him approach, closing the distance as his bootsteps echoed off the dimly lit corridor, before he came to stand in front of her. His chest came into view, the dark undershirt he wore the only thing she saw, before she lifted her eyes to meet his.

They took note of each other with impassiveness at first, but it dissipated after an uncomfortable moment. The woman gazing up at him with patience as she saw guilt fog over in his eyes, making them darker in the flickering light; the same ones slanting in a thought he clearly detested.

He looked at her again, as if assessing if he could confide with her what was on his mind. Norah simply nodded her head at him, the motion almost undetectable, but it was enough for the reserved mercenary to get courage to speak.

"Never sat well with me… bringing you here," he told her, clearing his throat awkwardly after the words left his tight-pressed mouth.

Norah's eyebrows lifted at him, genuinely surprised by his admission. In a way, she had always known, but it wasn't something that she had ever come to expect him to utter out-loud. There was an apology hidden inside his disclosure, one buried beneath the surface but as evident as a grave marker protruding from the ground. She could tell it pained him even to admit it, as if he was also regretting displaying a sliver of weakness to her.

The woman tucked her hair behind her ear, clearing her own throat. "I know you did not like it. You wanted nothing to do with me as I with you. Thank you for telling me that, though..."

He also replied with his own small nod, the ex-cupbearer looking down at her palms as he scratched his stubble with his fingernails. Uneasy tension once again filled the air between them, and she cleared her throat at him, the corner of her lip tugging at the side.

"I am sorry for biting your arm… when you were... _escorting_ me that first time. That was a bit… childish," she confessed, even if it didn't sound entirely candid. It had been self-defense, and she stood by it still, but she needed to say _something_ to alleviate the mood.

He gave a breathy chuckle at her. "It ain't the first time anyone's bitten me while I dragged them in."

"I'm sure. I doubt any of them comply willingly," she said in, her voice lilting at his small jest.

His blue eyes shifted to the side, sucking at his teeth, before he turned on his heels; his back to her as they proceeded.

The marksman took her further down into the depths of the bloodstone corridors, and once again, the air grew stuffy between them; impermeable, but only half of it had to do with their conversation.

Norah breathed deeply in through her nose, finding it nearly impossible — the stone not the only thing making the woman uncomfortable.

Her eyes fixed to the back of her escort's head, the man's dark blonde colored hair brushing the tops of his shoulders. She caught the faintest glimpse of his neck, and stared at the translucent bead of sweat that rolled from the side of his face; passing along the front of his ear and then trailing down the side of his throat.

Sweat also rolled into her own eyes, causing her to lift a hand to rub it away. She breathed out an exhale, her lungs working more than usual to push out the weighted bit of air from her lips on the sweltering humidity.

She swallowed for air, working to create saliva to wet her throat — hoping for _anything_ to alleviate the choking, hot air she sucked in with every breath. Norah wasn't alone; she noticed when he raised the back of his hand to wipe at his forehead, a disgruntled sigh escaping from his lips as his pace quickened.

By the Gods it was _hot_.

The corridors Black took her through, the deeper they proceeded, felt as if she was baking inside of one of her own stone ovens. Was he taking her to the center of a volcano? The grim somber lighting of the bleak corridors gave the impression that they were. But, unfortunately, the heat and the darkness reminded her of something else… a memory she longed the most to forget...

Eventually, the unique pair came to a large wooden door; the carvings on the outside ornate and crafted masterfully. Etched on the wood, nearly life-size, were two detailed whittled images— one of a man and one of a woman facing each other, both draped in flowing linens and holding pitchers of water. It was an intricate, breathtaking design—something that looked more like it was painted by oils than chiseled by hand. It was too beautiful just to be a door.

However, seeing it, knowing she should feel awe at its spectacle, felt herself blink rapidly; giving the door the same trepidation as the bloodstone it was set into.

She knew where she was now…

Norah took a step back.

And she would have much rather he had taken her to a volcano.

He took her to a bathhouse.

While the palace servants did have their own bathhouses, she never visited them— knowing all too well of the lascivious activities that occurred there beyond the guise of the innocent visage of it being a 'place for social gathering'. It was much more than just for bathing the sweat of the day off. It was an asylum to partake in lewd indulgences that servants needed to get out; using the release as a temporary balm before returning back to their unsavory, humdrum life.

While most activities were consensual —why else would you go there if not to find a partner— there was no doubt things that occurred violently between unwilling parties. And that was the aristocratic bathhouses.

The servant bathhouses were nothing like the highborn ones: where there was endless food, wine and clean accommodations. The servants' bathhouses were seedier, repugnant, and dangerous. It should have been labeled a brothel with water, and thus, why she never cared to know its location.

Norah sensed his eyes on her, staring over her guarded posture with an unreadable, but seemingly understandable regard—especially after taking note she seemed unwilling to take another step towards the door.

She frowned at him, the flop of greasy hair weighing down her scalp and the unfortunate aroma wafting in her nose from her own body odor, still not motivation enough to walk through the door. The baker wanted to flash him with indignation; to let him know that she had been offended he would even think to bring her here. Surely, he knew what her reaction would be?

It was well known palace gossip that aristocrats often took their servants to bathhouses to further subjugate and fornicate with them— when the bedroom was no longer interesting. Norah knew it was not his intention— far from it, but she still could not feel anything but hesitant embarrassment about why he would bring her to one.

She much preferred her bucket and rag after each day. At least she had her privacy, and after what had occurred days prior in the bowels of the Iron Vaults, she didn't want any more stranger's eyes gazing upon her naked flesh without her consent.

Norah wondered if she had bothered to recant to the gunslinger about her _entire_ experience in the Iron Vaults, moments before she had been summoned to appear before the court, if he would have chosen another spot.

Everything so far was unfortunately reminiscent of the Vaults: from the heat, the darkness, and finally her uneasiness. Being a bathhouse, a place she would have to strip naked in front of others, also sent another foul memory of the prison racing back to her. She didn't want to admit it — not until she was ready to tell him— but being associated with him actually saved her hide _twice_ that day.

The departure from Guang's house after Hulin and the Tribunal guards had found her had been a blur. Even now, she couldn't recall the trek to the People's Court or being processed at the prison. The baker had been too distracted by what had happened moments before arriving at the Iron Vaults…

The next thing she recalled, she was in a cell, which had been nothing but a dark, secluded room with stone, sand and an iron door with a small shutter that could be closed and opened by whoever was outside. It was nothing like the palace dungeons where she had spent her time with Tanya. Norah was always shrouded in overheated darkness; trapped in her own inky boiling void with nothing to do but feel around her cell. There wasn't anything of note, the cell bare besides a bucket to relieve herself in she had discovered while shambling around in the dark.

She knew she wasn't alone though; every so often she would feel a rat or bug scurry over her as she tried to sleep on the sand floor, and it wasn't until she blindly explored her room further, and sunk her hands into something bony and slimy —also overbearingly foul to smell — did she come across the body of another cellmate long since dead but still decomposing. The bugs and the rats prying whatever meal they could from the body.

The smell was also something that would be burned into her memory for as long as she lived; the stench of fecal matter, urine and blood outside her cell door barely overlapped the smell of rotting flesh inside her room, leaving her to speculate if some of her other neighbors were even alive at all; or simply forgotten like the prisoner left in her cell as well. As far as seeing other prisoners, she never saw anyone but the guards who would distribute a single meal; consisting usually of a stale piece of bread or flavorless broth, her room had been pitch dark and light only spilled in when they opened the door to give her food.

Though, she did hear her other cellmates… their voices had always been present.

The Iron Vaults were… macabre. Like being entombed with woeful spirits inside a desolate mausoleum. Norah recalled the ever-present somber melody of sorrowful crying, maddening screams and pleas for mercy. She had been thankful for its constant noise because she also needed to mourn in her cell. For a day or so, she had been nothing but another member of the melancholy chorus.

Norah wasn't sure how long she had been in her cell, time at a torturous standstill in the dark with nothing but her routine meal to serve as evidence that another day had passed, before the door had opened.

There were three guards: burly, thin and tall Outworld men and while different in physical characteristics, all considered her with the same apathetic regard; as if they were statues constructed from three different artists' interpretation of 'indifferent'. And not one of them had a bowl or piece of bread for her that day.

She had never been so instantly struck with fear seeing them looming in the doorway; coming to an easy to reach and horrifying reason for them to be there. They said nothing to her, only discussing briefly amongst themselves as she stared up them from the ground — asleep before, but now fully awake the minute they had opened the door.

" _You sure?"_ the burly one had questioned, his eyes trailing over her. _"Pity."_

" _Yes, I saw one on her the other day bringing her food,"_ the tall one had said. " _She'll be good. He doesn't care usually_ — _as long as they got a brand."_

The thin one had disagreed, the man nothing more than a collection of stick-like appendages and features molded together to construct a man. " _She's an Earthrealmer, he won't take her,"_ he argued, his rodent-like eyes looking over her with mild disappointment. _"They're deformed and ugly. One look at her and he won't' pay up."_

Disgust and anger interchanged with her anxiety, and she recalled them laughing at her as she scowled at their insult from the ground of her cell.

" _I think you embarrassed her— and they're not as ugly once you get them out of their clothes"_ — the dark eyes of the burly Outworlder turned to her— _"Ain't that right, sweetheart?"_ he had taunted, his handsome and strong masculine features hideous to her as soon as she heard the malignant cynical tone littered in his chiding words.

" _Burn in Hell,"_ she spat at them.

His unpleasant character revealed itself to her as he stared at her more intently then she wanted, the other two guards snickering at her. But it was the burly one out of the three she saw and heard—apprehensive towards him more than the others simply because of his increasingly lewd demeanor towards her.

He sneered at her, her heated remark nothing to him, as his brown eyes— now black— landed on her chest. _"Here, I'll show you."_

Before she could even balk out a complaint, or scream for help, he came in and grabbed her, hauling her to her feet by gripping her by her arms. As soon as he had her standing in front of him was when she screamed, shrieking furiously, and fighting tooth and nail with him. But his grip on her had been devastatingly stronger than her efforts to get free, and her thrashing had only aggravated him.

He had punched her in the face with enough force to throw her hard into the cell wall and make her head bounce against the stone, making her let out a pained yelp and daze her. She barely recalled his outline, white stars bouncing across her vision, when he had pulled at the material at the front of her dress, revealing her chest to him and the others, and it was then she recovered—instantly struck with horror at what he had done. She had covered her breasts with her palms, shrinking as they laughed at her embarrassment, but also carried on the conversation as if she was nothing to them.

" _See? No deformities,"_ the burly one said, gripping her face between his fingers and squishing her face mockingly. _"The only deformity is that she's an Earthrealmer."_

The tall one shrugged. _"If you say so. We need to go. Leave the door open. It needs to look like she escaped."_

And then the other two stepped in the cell. There were some good blows on her part, slaps and claw marks, but they had managed to subdue her quickly— after a few brutal punches in return from them. Besides just trying to keep her at bay, the only other damage had been done to her skirt— causing a rip to travel up the length when one of them stepped on it while trying to simultaneously haul her with them. The only thing good that had occurred, was they let her keep her hands over her chest; the tall and thin guards dragging her by her upper arms.

It had been one of the most petrifying silences of her life: they had said nothing to her as if she wasn't even there; merely talking conversationally amongst themselves on topics she couldn't remember in her paralyzing fear. They ignored her for the most part, even as she shrieked under the hand that covered her mouth from the burly guard from behind and thrashed in their hold as they carried her to another location in the prison. The outside of her cell was a mirror image of the inside of it; sandy, dark and disquiet with no one around to help her.

They carried her off through a series of stone hallways and staircases until they finally came to their destination: a room that was nothing but a small sand-floored area with sunlight streaking in from a nearby window and a few sporadic torches lining the walls, did she realize she wasn't the only person plucked from her cell.

There had been twelve other women and men, all of them of varying demographics but all of them had one thing in common: they were attractive and young, but random from what she could assess, and just like her, were all terrified and unsure of what was going on.

There were other guards as well, and had lined them all up, making them stand shoulder to shoulder — Norah the 6th one down from the door—with a guard behind them. The burly one that had escorted her from her cell was the one that stood behind her as they waited; his body a wall she didn't want to place her back against. He did anyway, his unwanted proximity encroaching on her space as he breathed into her ear from behind and felt his eyes rake down her. It was enough to freeze her with fear and make anger ignite in her veins…

And then the Naknada entered through the door and answered the question on all of their minds.

Why had they been kidnapped from their cells?

For the Flesh Trade.

They were nothing but cattle to be sold by the guards in a clandestine operation going under the Barrister's noses. At first, she couldn't understand how they were able to get away with such a precarious business transaction, until the six-armed buyer went down the line.

The frightened dispositions of the prisoners —herself included — had been instantly contagious upon seeing the teal skinned goblin. All of them knew exactly what was to happen next. She remembered the woman beside her, a timid slip of a woman, instantly burst into tears while others either lamented with horror or downright refused to believe their bad luck; their expressions one of disbelieving fury at their circumstances. Norah had been one of the many few that conveyed it; the others in line simply cowered.

The first of them under assessment was an Outworld male, younger than she was in appearance, and willowy. She felt sympathy for him… he was barely in adulthood.

" _This one's crime?"_ asked the Naknada to the guard.

" _Thief,"_ another guard behind the man answered, grabbing the young man's arm and raising it up to eyelevel to reveal a branded wrist — freshly stamped on his skin. _"Stole valuable property and the aristocrat wanted him to rot in the cell for the rest of his days. He won't be missed."_

" _Excellent. Let me see him before I purchase."_

He was stripped naked for all of them, two of the guards assisting when he didn't make a move to freely do so, while the Naknada assessed the man's flesh from head to toe for any deformities. When he saw none, and was satisfied, he exchanged coins with the guard and was dragged out of the room... Norah could still hear his screams even after the door closed.

He had continued down the line, the guards disrobing the ones that caught the Naknada's eye, while Norah waited for her own turn with her hands over her chest.

It wasn't until the 4th person did she finally understand that they weren't as random as she had thought they were. All of them had some sort of brand on their wrist, similar to hers, but not at all like the one she bared.

Some were fresher than others and varied in crime, but the one comparison they shared was their sentence. They were all destined to rot in the prison for the remainder of their lives — a sentence carried out by third-parties that negotiated the terms with the Barristers; possibly paid in coin under the table to do so. The prosecuting party didn't want a swift execution — they wanted the person that wronged them suffering away in a dark cell for eternity. Completely ignorant that the person was then being sold under their noses to what most would agree was a sentence worse than spending the rest of their days in a locked cage. Suddenly, the cryptid phrase from her captor earlier made sense…

_'Leave the door open. Make it look like she escaped.'_

Norah knew she didn't fit amongst them before the Naknada got to her, his breath washing over her as he surveyed her up and down with a malignant gleam. She could still smell his breath, sickeningly sweet yet rancid like old fruit.

She couldn't find the words to say anything to the six-armed buyer; both stricken with fear but full of ire at the sight of him as he approached her. All she could do was glare at him with disgust while she trembled like a crystal glass in an earthquake. She had wanted to protest to save her own skin, realizing the guard's folly. The others… their sentences were already carried out. They had already gone to trial and the brand on her wrist was mistaken for someone that already had.

" _Ah an_ _ **Earthrealmer**_ _,"_ his tone had been both ridiculing and full of elation. _"You will breed quick-growing slaves."_

But the words turned into sand in her mouth and she couldn't find her voice, but the expression on her face had turned livid at him. He had ignored it, the top of his lip curling at her before smiling at her hands over her nearly naked chest.

" _Let me see you…"_

Norah spat at him, and her lip had cut open instantly when he grumbled with anger and had backhanded her with one of his hands (she didn't know which one) after she had refused to voluntarily partake in his assessment of her.

She had crumpled to the ground, falling to her knees with a pained whimper from the brutal strength of his strike before she picked herself back to her feet. Still keeping her hands over her chest.

" _No, you will_ _ **not**_ _see me_ ," she fumed at him, finally finding her voice. It trembled, but no longer with fear, but with rage. She maneuvered one of her arms to lay flat against her chest keeping herself covered, as she brought her branded wrist up to him. _"Because I have not been to_ _ **trial**_ _yet."_

She thought it would be her death sentence for a moment, boldly saying the words to him, but to her astonishment, it had worked.

He took a step back, his interest in procuring her instantly fleeting. For a moment, as his already ugly features twisted into a scowl, she could have sworn she saw a flicker of fear in his glowing crimson eyes, before he barked indignantly at the guards that had brought her in. _"Get this one out of my sight! She is already property you brainless oafs!"_

The burly guard that had ripped off her clothes clamped his hands on her upper arms, but not before one of the Naknada's hands came up to grasp under her chin; his talon-like nails sinking into the soft flesh of her skin.

" _Who do you serve as a cupbearer to, Earthrealm slave?"_ he had snarled at her, his eyes slanted and burning at her like enraged amber coals.

Norah knew she wasn't supposed to say, knowing that she was to keep the fine details of her previous occupation secret, but feeling humiliated and furious towards the repugnant creature, she growled back at him through her teeth: _"Erron Black_ _ **and**_ _Ferra/Torr, you vile imp."_

His red eyes narrowed more at her seething insult towards him; causing the nails to pierce her skin. _"Tell either of them of what happened, and I will find and gut you!"_

Despite her displayed bravado, it had been nothing more than a mask to bury her fear out of sight —she did believe the Naknada. Even now, standing with Black, she believed he would if she dared utter a word to either Black or Ferra/Torr; as if the thought of it would cause the many-armed goblin to spring forth from the walls and rip her insides out like promised. She didn't want to speak of it anyway, even if she thought she should. There was injustice being done, despite it being done to the unjust. Norah knew she would have to say something eventually —and she would — but it was too fresh of an encounter to relate just yet. Even if there was an opportunity to bring it up to use as a justifiable excuse to deter him from convincing her to proceed through the door.

And unfortunately, her torment hadn't ended with the Naknada…

The burly guard, the one that had escorted her back to her cell, had done nothing at first… until he brought her back to the door of her cell and stood with her inside the frame.

One of his hands had left her arm to spiral into her hair, pulling her back against his chest from behind and forcing her to crane her neck towards the ceiling. But she couldn't fight him— her hands still covering her chest, but had wiggled furiously in his hold, snarling out a curse at him through her teeth.

His mouth had come to her ear, and she had whipped her head to the side to get away from him, as he whispered: _"Hopefully I'll be seeing you after your trial."_

He had licked a stripe across her face with his tongue, burning and wetting her skin as he ran it from her neck, over her jaw and stopped it at her hairline; moaning purposely at her as she recoiled and growled disgust…

She managed to whirl around and slap him hard, enough to cause his skin to redden instantly from her palm…

" _Do not touch me—"_

He had punched her solidly into the jaw, causing her to let out a pained shout as she fell backwards into the floor of her cell.

Unbeknownst to her, Jan Fai had seen the entire thing, however his strides hadn't been quick enough to stop him from hitting her. Norah hadn't heard the entire exchange between them, simply riding out the pulsating twinges of agony in her jaw, before she felt Jan Fai approach her.

His face had been the most welcome sight since her entire stay in the Vaults. But she realized, he had been there to collect her for the trial, and sensing her troubles were far from over, she couldn't help but bury her face into his chest; her tears soaking into his tunic as he held and hushed her. He had let her, simply holding her, and only leaving momentarily to grab what he could find to cover her with; the best he could find being an old green blanket and plain rope.

He had asked what had happened, his hand smoothing over the back of her hair as he helped her dress, and in her cowardice, hearing the voice of the Naknada in her head from just moments ago, told him only about the guards.

The Naknada were feared by the poor folk of Outworld for a reason...

Her attention fixed back to the present, and even with the silence, nothing happening between them besides awkward body language and glances, Erron detected the source of her discomfort easily enough, causing his blue eyes to gaze at the door before back to her finally.

"It's not the same," he clarified, rubbing his thumbnail against his chin.

The baker said nothing at first; noting that his tone didn't ring with as much confidence as it should have. As if he knew what he had uttered had been nothing but a half-truth.

She raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him, questioning the reason for his obvious con. "They are _all_ the same from what I have heard from palace gossip."

It was the gunslinger's turn to raise his own disbelieving eyebrow towards her, those his expressed more sarcasm which mirrored his tone. "Don't believe everything you hear. It _is_ a bathhouse, but it ain't like of the ones you've heard about."

The woman crossed her arms over her chest, "I hear nothing else about them. They are nothing but bordellos, and I have no interest in stepping foot in one. You are more than welcome to divulge. I do not care what you do."

He gave an annoyed, flippant scoff. "I didn't take you to a _whorehouse_ , woman," the gunslinger narrowed his eyes with impatience. "You wanna stay stinkin' to high heaven or do you want a bath?"

Norah's brows squinted together, regarding him dubiously. "That is the _third_ time you have had to make an argument in its stead," she pointed out. Her eyes shifted to the door, and then back to him. "I am surprised the door is not _red_ with all things considering."

Black rolled his eyes with exasperation. "There's _private_ rooms. Communal ones with the hot springs if you want, but I figured you want your privacy. Otherwise, I would have saved myself the money and taken you to one of the other ones you clearly hate instead."

"You have to _pay_ to take a bath? I thought Kahn's guards were not warranted to? she asked him, genuinely curious, though her stringent tone never faltered.

"I'm payin' _your_ way since you ain't got a coin to your name they can charge," Erron informed, his brow furrowed stoically.

The corner of her mouth tugged to the side, her shoulders shrugging, as she thought of an alternative. "I do not want to be a burden to your coin purse. I can make due with a bucket and rag. I can use your washroom or even Ferra/Torr's courtyard for privacy."

"There aren't enough buckets for you," Black asserted, grimacing as he traced over her dirty form. "It's worth the coins. You smell and look like a corpse."

She bit back a sarcastic remark, blinking as his words inadvertently caused her to recall her cellmate. The baker gave him a pointed look, her tone dry: "I am sure the bathhouses are nice for _you_ , but I cannot take the risk for myself."

"I told you: it is not the same," his tone firm but slightly impatient. The bounty hunter's eyes slanted at her; her ironclad stubbornness battling against his dwindiling patience. "I didn't think you'd be so uptight towards it. Especially with how much you need it."

She sighed, catching the whiff of her own body odor. "I _do_ want a bath."

He shot a firm look at her. "Then enough with your griping. I ain't trying to hoodwink you into prancing around naked for the whole palace to see. There's private accommodations — like I said — and they cost a good penny to rent. So, I suggest you get over being shy and enjoy what's comin' out of my pocket."

Her eyes narrowed instantly at his blunt words. By the Gods, how she aggravatingly wanted to tell him the reason for her _shyness_ , but even in the midst of a heated disagreement with him, she couldn't admit it— even to let it slip out on accident. She wanted to tell him, just so he would understand her reluctance.

She couldn't do this and he needed to know why... but she couldn't tell him... not yet...

"I am not _griping_ , Erron. You are just not understanding me."

"And _you're_ not trusting a word I'm saying to you," Black countered back. "Just walk through the door and have a good time. There isn't anything wrong with where I brought ya."

"Have a good _time…_?" she parroted back with indignation, her anger boiling to the surface. She shook her head at him, her frustration towards his ignorance at its limit.

"Like I had a _good time_ in the _Vaults_?" she scowled back, growing short. "Why should I trust you that I'll have a _good time_ in a place that is nothing more than an excuse to have sex? Nothing you have said has convinced me it's safe. I don't care how many coins you say you are sparing from your purse; it won't stop anyone else from trying to have a _good time_ with me."

Erron took a step towards her, bristling impatiently: "No one is going to _fuck_ you. You think I'd go through the trouble to make sure you're _cozy_ if I hadn't gotten my back whipped! So quit making shit up in your head that everything I do is to spit in your eye!"

Norah stiffened, swallowing her words back down her throat as soon as she felt guilt hit her in the gut. She had no retort for his remark, which had been both brusque and candid. The baker let out an exhale, taking a step back from him as her arms crossed over her chest and tightened around her torso.

He sighed in return, shaking his head, and seemingly remorseful for raising his voice despite his discomfiture towards her unwillingness to trust his word.

But… it wasn't that she didn't believe him — after what he had done with the whipping, she doubted he would purposely throw her into harm's way. However, she wasn't adamant in concluding that he wouldn't do it unintentionally. But, she knew he wasn't that ignorant.

He knew her well enough to perceive she wouldn't want to come to a bathhouse. If she was aware of what occurred in the bathhouses, there was no doubt he was as well. For all she knew, he probably visited them regularly, but it was different for him—he was a trained mercenary with a feared reputation and she was a faceless nobody who lost almost every fight she became involved in.

She had every right to be wary of what was on the other side of the door, no matter how nice and safe he proposed it to be (perhaps it truly was).

Norah wanted to trust him… but she just couldn't. Not because she felt he was using poor judgment, but because of what had happened in the Vaults and what she still refused to recant to anyone out loud in detail. But… at least she could still offer him a vague insight to help him comprehend her reason.

Her eyes went to the ground, her stance shuffling from one foot to the other. "I… I am not trying to appear ungrateful. I just… I have never been to one for a _reason_ … and my… my cell"— she wiped away a tear that fell without her permission— "my cell at the Vaults was _private_ too… and they still… they still _saw_ me. I don't want… I don't want that again..."

An awkward pause stayed in the air, heavy between them as she decided to remain quiet, while her implication sunk in. He knew some of her ordeal; she had briefly exposed some specifics of what had occurred with the guards while she had tended to his back at the Coliseum; spilling the same tale she had relayed to Jan Fai when he had found her. However, neither of them were aware of the _entire_ story.

" _Tell either of them of what happened and I will find and gut you!"_

To her surprise, she felt his hands on her shoulders; laid gently but solidly enough for her to understand he wanted her attention.

She looked at him, his eyes more urbane and considerate than they had been just a moment ago. He gave a resolute nod towards her, his voice obstinate yet mollifying.

"It's _safe_."

It was only two words spoken from his mouth, but the stone-like empathetic tone he spoke with implored for her acceptance; his eyes also asking the same as they looked at each other in silence.

Norah was taken back by his softer, rare demeanor. Erron Black asking her for anything kindly still uncomfortably alien; she'd known only callousness from him. He seemed uncomfortable with it as well, and she thought it as the closest to beseeching her for permission than he felt comfortable voicing considering his reserved nature.

To an uneducated bystander, it would have simply looked like him waving off the danger; doing nothing but make a brief statement. However, the baker understood what was being conveyed from him, the message between the two words clear: You won't be bothered because of me.

But, there was also more to it, yet another message that was mutely expressed just with his eyes.

He was asking for her trust as well.

She swallowed, the hot air making it feel as if nothing entered her lungs, as she looked at his shoes.

His hands left her shoulders, and the baker caught the slight grimace that pulled across his features as he lowered his hands back to his sides; the motion causing some uncomfortable twinge to flare as the skin of his back torso stretched. It instantly caused regret to bubble up.

To her, watching his discomfort was worse than him offering an amiable gesture towards her, and felt more benignancy watching him hide his pain that she had caused.

He was correct about one thing he had said to her: he wouldn't do so much for her if he hadn't already; every new overbearing act of kindness was a pittance in comparison to his good deed in the Coliseum for her. To go back on it, would have been a waste on his part. He had to keep putting forth good deeds… as well as her.

It was such a melancholy paradox; the one-sided guilt that he had felt before taking the whip and the bugs had left to latch on to her instead. Now it was her turn to feel liability and make amends for the turmoil she had caused him. Before, it had been her that was owed. Now, it was him. And despite how suspicious she was of the bathhouse he had taken her to was, knew she had no choice.

Stepping in the door was a step towards them being on even-footing.

"Alright…" she croaked out, biting her bottom lip nervously. The words departed her with more solemn resonance than she had wanted him to hear. She could feel his eyes gazing at her skeptically, knowing her concession wasn't entirely genuine. Her brow furrowed with determination. She had to convince him, despite how much her stomach twisted with fear at the thought of walking into the bathhouse.

Norah looked at him, nodding, though her throat felt bone dry as the words scraped against her throat on their exit. "I will trust you."

A dolesome pause lingered in the air between them, the already humid air growing denser as the silence carried on. They did nothing but simply study each other for their reactions.

At first, she felt as if maybe she had spoken too much, even if what she had uttered had been so minimal. It confused her. Wasn't that what he wanted to hear? The marksman, in turn, looked as if he was debating with himself whether to ignore her lingering hesitation, or pay more heed to it. She could have been mistaken, but he seemed… unsure himself? As if he had coaxed too much from her and did not revel in any satisfaction to her consent.

The former cupbearer tried to prompt another mood, feeling anxious, and cracked a timid, but jesting smile at him. "After all… I do not want to waste your coins," she allowed a true, albeit awkward, smile to pull across her face. "They are so precious to you; you would never forgive me if I did."

Black cracked a quick smile, nearly undetectable with how quick it had appeared and disappeared from him, before his expression turned more phlegmatic. "It's all I'm asking..."

The gunslinger turned his back to her, and her shoulders sunk from behind him; the woman mulling over if she should have kept her listless joke to herself. But, to her surprise, he looked over his shoulder when his hand gripped the handle. A miniscule smirk pulled at her: "... Cause I hate wasting money."

A breathy chuckle fell softly from her, the woman rolling her eyes at him, as he pushed the door open.

A surprised look set on her face, the former servant taken aback by the grandiose ivory reception area that greeted them, as soon as it was revealed.

Now the door, the same one she had marveled at for its beauty, was nothing but a banal piece of wood in comparison to what it had been hiding.

Despite the small presence of bloodstone on the walls, marble and gold accents helped bring welcoming warmth into the room, providing a visual remedy to her previous fears.

White and gold encompassed much of the room, as if she was standing in a warm sunbeam. The desk itself, presented in the middle of the room, was just as ornate as the door.

A grand painting was carved on the dark wood, depicting an open amphitheater with flowing pools of water, pillars of stone and wooden patricians sitting by the poolside with beautiful handmaidens and male servants carrying plates of food and pitchers of wine. There were two separated corridors on either side of the desk, veering off into different hallways, but she noticed the plaques above each entryway. It provided her with a small sense of relief. The left was for woman, indicated by the wood carving of the woman, and the right corridor was for men. They were separated according to gender.

Norah didn't get long to gaze at the plaques, when the woman behind the desk, beamed at them both. She was beautiful—one of the most striking Outworld women she had ever seen… and it made the grime covered, dirty ex-servant feel like nothing but a repulsive muck-covered bug as she stood in her sight; feeling as she was unworthy to be even be looked on by the woman. At the same time, she was envious of every perfect aspect of her: from her flowing dark hair, brushed straight down her back, to her angled features that seemed to be made as perfectly as the wooden vessels in the wood.

Everything about her was as regal and enchanting as the room, her eyes the color of tiger-stone as she surveyed them with nothing but benevolence. Her kind reverie warmed her, made her feel welcome, but Norah could still do nothing but feel anxious simply being in her presence. Even her lavender dress, as beautifully feminine and hanging like silk over her limbs, did nothing but make her feel like a vagabond in the presence of an Elder God.

Her eyes shifted to the Kahn's guard; her smile demure. "Your friend is shy, Minister Black."

Norah wanted to refute the woman's statement, to say something rude, but her melodious voice regarded her with no insult. Simply observation. It would be wrong of her to protest.

Erron approached her, stopping once he reached the desk as his hands dug in his pockets for gold coins that he placed on the desk. "Its her first time to one of these," he told the receptionist. Black paused before continuing, his tone light but authoritative. "Make her feel welcome."

"Of course," was the woman's response.

Black paused before he questioned: "Is Mera around?"

Norah couldn't help but furrow her eyebrows, catching the auspicious tone of his voice in the question. It was someone he knew...

The woman frowned, "I apologize. She is currently with someone now—"

The bounty hunter placed more gold coins on the desk.

The Outworld woman smiled lightly. "I am sure she can see you after you have both settled into your private rooms."

Black titled his head towards the baker's direction. "Her first."

The receptionist said nothing before bending down to grab a midnight blue robe and a white cotton towel. Norah gulped, sweat rolling down in beads down her neck. She gazed at Erron, looking for a last-minute reassurance, but his form was blocked when the woman came to her side; a gentle hand on the back of her shoulder as she guided her towards the left corridor.

"My name is Ramina," the Outworld woman greeted tenderly to her as she walked her. "And yours?"

The baker looked to her timidly. "Norah."

"Anything you want it is yours, Norah. Please do not feel frightened to ask or let me know if there is something to your displeasure," she assured kindly. "All you need to do is let me or the other attendants know."

The cupbearer stiffened. "Other attendants?"

Ramina nodded, seeming to understand her reticence. " _Female_ attendants. You will see no men on this side."

The baker shrugged her shoulders, a sigh of relief escaping from behind her lips as the woman quelled her previous concern.

"What would you like first?"

Norah shrugged, feeling both inelegant and unsure. "I… I just want a bath...?"

Ramina gave a small chuckle at her, "Of course, Norah. We will treat you well here."

Norah looked over her shoulder, back to Erron who still stood inside the reception area awaiting to be attended to. His eyes caught her, seeing her hesitance and lowered his chin downwards towards her with a reassuring gesture. The former servant could make out the silent remark towards her spoken from his slight body language.

" _It's safe."_

Norah turned back, allowing Ramina to lead her to a corner where they turned out of the sight from the gunslinger.

Hoping her trust hadn't been misplaced…

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I wrote something back in the day with the Vaults and had to roll with it. The Naknada (not Kollector btw) was additional and not planned back then, but thought fine enough to fit in here. I was going to write about the bathhouses/ spa this chapter — SaphiraRyuuka from FF.net gets credit for putting the idea of them visiting hot springs/a spa in my head, so, kudos to them — but if I didn't stop it here, it would be a mega chapter and I just want to get something out at this point since I'm behind on updating this on my usual schedule.
> 
> Hopefully you liked it. Thanks for reading, leave a comment/ kudos if you want and as always see you next chapter.


	33. Chapter 33

* * *

**Chapter 33**   
**White Foxes**   
**Part 3**   
_**Waltz of the Flowers** _

* * *

"A world of grief and pain, flowers bloom— even then.  
-Kobayashi Issa

* * *

There were not many people she thought unredeemable and detestable, but her current patient, certainly was — at the top of her list.

Regardless, Mera, one of many healers for the Kahn's palace, retained her professional demeanor despite the Outworld-native woman wanting nothing more than to break the Edenian's bones rather than checking up on the ones she had set days earlier.

The room of the bathhouse, wall to wall with superfluous marble, bloodstone and accents of gold trim and blue labradorite, felt nothing more than a cage to her as soon as she walked through the door.

She would have much preferred to share an iron cell with one of the many vicious feline creatures used for executing criminals at the Coliseum; the company would certainly be preferable, and much like the feral cats, he studied her —always studying. He constantly looked for weaknesses to exploit against her very much like a predator on the hunt.

Most times, she did her best not to let it show, but it was difficult to keep up the placid act after mere minutes around him. Just being in his presence was enough to make the woman forget how to breathe properly; she felt nothing but hatred towards him.

And he knew it too.

Oh… how he knew…

Mera had seen and met many deplorable folks throughout her life, even treated some as patients, but there was never one person that she could recall that feigned being benign and mocked so seamlessly and simultaneously as well as he did.

What _was_ debatable, was the fine line between sincerity and performance.

Sometimes, it was as if he honestly believed himself to be a victim; that he was forced to do the things he professed he didn't want to because of the cause and effect of others. That he was simply following suit with what was in his nature. And his nature was loathsome; twisted and perverse, but all he knew how to be due to his unbalanced brain and upbringing.

But there was another part other that saw it as nothing but an affectation; that he was fully aware of what he was doing and enjoyed every second of it. That it was all just a game; crafted skillfully by him to see what he could discover about his opponent and use it against them.

Mera had seen some of his handiwork from his profession and his talent for torture was as irrefutable as a stone in someone's shoe. Playing mind games would certainly be something he would excel in as well, just considering how good he was at his job; the two complimented each other like salt and pepper.

So, while her logical, physician brain, that had seen all sorts of manic and demented souls, wanted to say it was the first diagnosis (that he was just a functioning psychopath) her gut told her it was a medley of both speculations. That he was cognizant that he was different than others and didn't care— he wasn't ashamed and loved being the way he was. Which was why he put on the portrayal as someone auspicious. Very much the same way a poisonous, carnivorous flower attracted prey: knowing it should not approach, but did anyway, because something so prepossessing couldn't be dangerous.

But was…

"As always, you have a true gift for healing, my darling," Hulin cajoled from the ornate decorated chair, the Edenian grimacing as she placed his arm back into the white cloth sling for his broken arm.

Her eyes lifted to meet his and she couldn't stop the disgusted sneer that formed on her face as soon as he flashed her with the same saccharine visage he always displayed to her.

Mera hated it when he gave her that look, and he knew she did; because it annoyed her that he wouldn't forgo the deception despite their well-versed history with each other. It was nothing more than to vaunt his achievement at her. He had a ransom over her head for her to comply and to treat him as cordial as a prince. And because of that reason, Mera could do nothing but swallow her pride and push aside her contemptuous, acidic thoughts and revenge-filled fantasies about her _client_ , and how much she wanted to go through with them but couldn't…

"Your healer's touch is certainly a gift from the Elder Gods themselves," he praised, continuing to taunt her under a candied masquerade. "One I'm always delighted to be serviced by."

She inhaled deeply through her nose, reminding herself she was a healer first, a damn good one, that put her clients' needs first before the greediness of her own emotions on the job. Even if it was _him._

Still… there was only so much she could take.

The hand from his uninjured arm came up, grasping her hand, to rub a smooth circle on the outside with his thumb. Mera stiffened immediately when his hand touched her, as if some venomous bug just landed on her. Despite his unwelcomed touch, she rose her chin at him, feigning indifference, as he spoke sweetly to her.

"I confess it has been a long time since I have seen you. I really should make more of an effort"— his eyes darkened pretentiously, while the rest of his face remained chivalrous— "I almost forgot just how _identical_ you and your twin sister really are."

Mera sucked in a heated breath through her teeth— baring them at him at the same time— as she yanked her hand from him. Curtly, she grabbed his cane that leaned against the table beside him.

The healer, her brown eyes narrowed at his splinted leg and arm in the white-cloth sling, thrusted Hulin his walking cane rudely to him; one crooked and curved in shape and with various overgrown roots running like veins along the outside of the staff. It looked more like a macabre broken limb with muscle fibers than wood, and he used it to pull himself up to his feet; his eyes, as when he first walked into the bathhouse, never leaving her as he hobbled to full height.

"I shall see you again soon?" he questioned. "For another appointment? I apologize for having to drag you to the bathhouse. I know how much you do not like it here due to how much it reminds you of Sera."

The healer's hand drifted backwards towards the table behind her, placing her palm over the scalpel still in its slot in her leather tool kit. She wanted to slash his throat with a knife for the statement alone that was filled with nothing but arrogance hidden under a fictitious and kind etiquette.

But instead of reaching for the knife, her hand came forward, gripping the edge of the table instead.

She couldn't… no matter how much she wanted to.

Instead, Mera gave him a resolute glare; her venomous gaze conveying silently: _We both know perfectly damn well it was your intention to_ drag _me here when I could have seen you at the Healer's Den."_

He smiled affably, his eyes going from the knife, to her hand, and then back to her. But his expression carried none of the charm or friendliness it was supposed to contain giving her such a smile; he used it instead to flout at her that they both knew she couldn't do what she really wanted.

"Do the other girls miss her— the other maids in the bathhouse? Do _you_ miss your sister? It must be difficult to look in the mirror and see _her_ face gazing back at you. You are more than welcome to visit her if you wish to. My door is always open to you."

Mera said nothing, only responding by finally turning her back to him. Her eyes fixed downwards to the table next to the chair, immediately packing her slate-colored medical tools into a strapless leather satchel; her movements hurried so she could leave the room faster.

"Your leg and arm are healing quickly," she stated, forcing her words to be toneless. "So, I do not see any further need to come and see you—"

Mera heard the end of his cane land next to her foot with an audible _'clunk'_ against the stone floor, a warning. She heard him shuffle in closer to her, perhaps an inch of space between the two of them, and enough to effectively trap her despite his condition. Hulin at her back and the table in front.

He placed the cane against the table and balanced on his one good leg while he breathed down her neck behind her, and she grew more uncomfortable with each passing tense second. Regardless, she straightened her spine, not willing to budge so he could gloat any further.

"I will see you whenever _I_ want to see you, darling _sister_ -in-law," he hissed from behind her. "Or did you forget who I have as a wife? Waiting for me to return back to my room?"

"How could I forget?" Mera snapped. "You remind me every time. It makes me wonder who is the _forgetful_ one. Especially considering how little she truly and always meant to you."

His hand came over her shoulder, fingers at the neckline of the banded-collar of the dark green work-shirt she wore and rested it at the top button. She could feel his eyes at the back of her head, scrutinizing and waiting — taunting her to react — but she didn't; not wanting to give him a single inch more. The only thing she did was place a hand over one of the pockets of her white healer's apron that hung over one side; protecting the small occupant nestled inside.

His fingers tugged at the top button of her healer's uniform, pulling the brass button from the placket, and continuing downwards, agonizingly slowly, to the next one.

Her mouth twisted in disgust, eyes shutting tight, as she felt her composure and restraint shrivel away with each button that was loosened. She was about to stop him—violently— but he stopped unbuttoning her blouse just above her breasts.

"You are right, I will admit. I guess it is true I don't really need to see you," Hulin remarked into her ear, his fingers nudging apart the panels of her shirt to open them, exposing the skin of her neck and chest to him. She felt him dip his chin down, looking over her shoulder before giving a small appreciative smile and _'hmm_ ' from his lips as he looked down the front of her shirt, admiring her cleavage.

Her other hand balled tightly, knuckles turning white, about to connect it with his face…

Mera balked, eyes shooting open, as a strangled gasp fell from her lips in surprise as she felt his palm flatten on the skin just below her neck. It wormed upwards until his hand stopped at her bare neck and wrapped his fingers around; not squeezing, but firm enough to remind her he could. She opened her fist, her nails digging into her thigh through the green long-skirt she wore while the other curled more protectively over the pocket of her apron.

The healer shivered, her form otherwise frozen and rooted where she stood like a tree in winter, as Hulin's fingers traced along her throat and then downwards like leeches crawling along her skin. Her eyes closed again, as his fingers fiddled with the gold chain with intersecting carnelian stones along the chain. His hand traveled further south, grasping the carnelian cabochon resting at the end of the chain; tracing a thumb over the smoothed stone of the necklace— the one that also shared an identical sibling.

"Afterall, why would I need to see one twin… when I already have the _other_?" he jeered— making her flinch when he leaned in and whispered in her ear.

His fingers finally pulled away, and as soon as they did, she let out a strained exhale; Mera not even realizing she had been holding it in. Despite her complete aversion to him, she turned to look at him and dropped her hand away from her apron pocket. Although he had taken a step back, his proximity was still close enough to her, and felt no relief when she took a step back to meet the table's edge from behind; feeling once again trapped.

"Give her back to me," Mera demanded through clenched teeth. "You've done enough to her. She may as well be dead after what you did."

Hulin's expression crimped into one of utmost —fake—confusion at her and Mera wanted to claw the look off his face with her nails the second he brandished it at her. _Why?_ Why did he bother to keep up the ruse like everything was so _surprising_ to him? Why?!

_He is trying to get under your skin… stop letting him…_

She inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself, even though he persisted.

"Oh, my darling, Sera is still very much alive. And incredibly happy with me," he paused, mulling over a thought. "Though, I will say it is hard to tell sometimes. I'm afraid her speech is a bit… _garbled_ nowadays. Kytinn venom does interesting things to the mind as you know."

She hissed out a curse at him as she took a step forward, raising a hand to strike him— to charge and attack him— before the Edenian rose a finger— stopping her.

He waved it back and forth at her, 'tsking', before he gave her a pointed glare.

"Strike me and I'll shove my cock so far down her throat she vomits on the floor… and then I'll make her clean it up with her tongue," he warned, before he clicked his tongue and pouted mockingly at her. "You wouldn't want Sera to do that — _would you,_ my darling?"

The healer felt bile creep up in her throat at the abhorrent threat of what he said. As much as she hated to do so, she lowered her hand back to her side, where it stayed, albeit in a tight fist as her chest rocked up and down with heated breaths; trying to reign in her anger for her sister's sake.

He nodded in satisfaction, his eyes still regarding her mirthfully. The healer faltered, a quivering breath escaping from her lips, as her chest tightened as if someone had pressed a crushing stone on it.

"Just let her go…" Mera pleaded, the words leaving more broken and emotional than she wanted. She swallowed, shaking her head at him, as she forced a more stoic inflection to come from her mouth. "She's nothing to you… we both know it."

He regarded her evenly, as if he was assessing something on a marketplace shelf for buying. "You have always known my terms: just trade places and I will unmarry her."

Mera shuddered with revulsion, her heart aching at the same time. "No… _NEVER_ …"

He scoffed vainly, shrugging. "Then you don't love your sister as much as you say you do."

The Outworld healer shot him with an expression of pure malice, an angry tear falling over her cheek. "I know her and _love_ her well enough to know that she would rather die, then have us _both_ as your wife."

He shrugged and took a step towards her, limping due to his splinted leg. Hulin gave her a once over— studying… always studying— before his hand reached out to take back the cane he had set aside; leaning on it as soon as it returned to his hand.

"It's only a matter of time," the Edenian avowed to her unwaveringly, his brows suddenly furrowed in thought. "But which one will happen first I wonder? Her die… or you mine?"

Her eyes burned with malevolence at him, more angry tears falling from her face, as her form trembled with rage; Hulin doing nothing but observing her reaction with remorselessness.

_Studying… ALWAYS studying…_

The top point of this cane came up, stopping just under her chin so he could lift her eyes more to him. She showed her teeth at him as much as the cane allowed, her face knotting with hatred at him, as the misshapen wood dug uncomfortably into the skin of her jaw.

"You and Sera both remind me of those glass flowers they sell to children in the marketplace," he remarked, his eyes traveling over her form appreciatively. "So beautiful"— his eyes glinted with dark gratification as his eyes met hers again and lowered the cane back to his side— "yet so easy to break."

She scowled at him, her eyes landing on his splinted leg and then back to him with a contemptuous relish: "Says the cripple. It is a shame Ferra/Torr didn't break more of you."

His expression darkened instantly, anger eclipsing his previous ego at her, and took a step towards her—

A knock came at the door, causing both to fix their attention to it at the same time she backed more into the table.

Hulin curled his lip briefly, annoyed that he was interrupted. "What?"

"Apologies, my lord," came a maid on the other side of the door. "But Mera has been requested to see another."

He huffed in response, as if scolding the maid for having the audacity to address him. Meanwhile, Mera, not willing to let the opportunity to remove herself from the room go by, turned, collected her things, and tried to walk to the door…

His cane shot out at an angle, stopping her path to the door like a barricade. She halted, the cane at the front of her shins as the healer frowned in irritation.

"She's busy, still," Hulin barked out.

"I apologize, but she has been requested by Minister Black," came the girl again. "I am afraid it is… _nonnegotiable_."

Mera caught the Edenian flash his teeth at the door before his demeanor instantly twist in hatred at the mention of Erron Black. His eyes darted to the side briefly, noting she was watching him, before he forced his expression back to his usual resolute but pompous mask; as if he didn't want Mera to see him display animosity towards Black, and give himself away.

It was… surprising to say the least. If any of the Kahn's Ministers deserved that look, she would have assumed it would have been Ferra/Torr for breaking his leg and arm. Not to say he wasn't angry with them as well, but she noticed that he seemed to have more resentment at the mere mention of the bounty hunter than the symbiotes.

So, what did Black do to warrant Hulin's animosity more than Ferra and Torr's?

Mera narrowed her eyes in skepticism at him, his eyes still on the door, and for once, she studied _him_.

Hulin noticed her gaze at him, and with a sigh, he pulled his cane back and allowed her to pass.

Her quick footsteps pulled her to the door, as if they were being directed by a strong magnet, and she wasted no time to swing the door open and exit out.

A tiny timid maid in a lavender dress met her, surprised at the door suddenly exploding open, while the healer slipped out and walked briskly down the hall with her leather toolkit gripped tight in her hand.

Mera breathed heavily, the air going into her lungs like it was being processed through a clogged filter as she marched down the hall. The healer refused to look behind her, but heard Hulin instruct the maid to bring him someone for a massage and a plate of food; at least that is what she thought she heard. It was all white noise, almost indiscernible, as she rounded the corner and headed as far as she could away from the door.

She didn't know which room Black was in, and Mera was fine with it. She needed the time searching to collect her thoughts and push down any that related to Hulin and her sister.

The healer paused, looking down at her empty hand— the one that was as shaky as the breath that left her lips. She swallowed, her throat indescribably tight and dry, as she tried to calm herself and lifted her hand to close her blouse. She fumbled to do so, and eventually tucked her satchel under the crook of one arm, so she could button up the rest of her shirt.

The inhabitant inside her apron pocket stirred, as if sensing her distress and she looked to her side, one of her fingers prying it open to gaze down into the slot.

To her relief, Moloth, her infant Venom-Eater, was fine; the blue and black fur-covered millipede, nestled into a tight circle inside her pocket as if nothing had happened. As usual, he slept, until he was needed for a patient. It chittered quietly, tightening into a spiral more, before she closed the pocket and proceeded to where Erron Black was in the Kahn's Springs.

Her brow furrowed…

Wondering just what in the realms the mercenary wanted with her now…

* * *

Norah wasn't supposed to be here, and she didn't deserve this. That was the firm conclusion that the ex-servant girl reached each time she was bombarded with something elegant and new.

And everything in the bathhouse was just that.

There was nothing familiar from her former life before the palace; nothing that reminded her of her social station, but at the same time _did._ She was a peasant, and the room she was in, was more suited to tend to the needs of some diplomat or bureaucrats' wife...

The baker inhaled a deep, anxious breath, looking about the posh marbled room with reticence.

… not for someone that had never known such exquisite indulgences.

Beauty and elegance were not common words Norah used to describe anything in her life; she had used those words perhaps a handful of times in the past. The destitute were only permissioned to witness the worst of the class system — and being poor in Outworld was not for the faint of heart.

Little did she know, always thinking she was on the bottom already until she came to the palace, did she find out she could sink even _lower_. Now she didn't even know what she was, but she certainly wasn't a free citizen. So, not only did she not belong here, surrounded by red-velvet furniture, bloodstone, gold, marble walls and amenities, but she _truly_ did not belong here.

Every time her eyes darted around the room, going from the dressing room partition (also made of the dark, rich wood she kept encountering), to the overpriced decorative vases filled with flowers, and to the blue robe and towel Ramina had placed on the red cushioned chair, she felt lesser and lesser. These things were not supposed to be for her.

_Never_ were they supposed to be for her.

The baker rubbed a palm over her bicep, soothing her thumb over the material of her dirty sleeve as she waited next to Ramina in the room for the maids to finish pouring water in her grandiose bathtub while another maid threw flowers into the pool.

She grimaced, bowing her head.

The stylish room, filled with lovely, over-the-top things, was no place for a slave girl — for a _nobody_ — like her.

Nothing she had encountered growing up penniless had been as splendorous as the room she was in now. Everything in her life had been that way: all of it had been coarse and nothing soft like the things in the bathhouse. _Everything_. From the people, in a class higher looking down at her, to the clothes, to the food, and to the lodgings. It had all been persistently temperate, never luxurious, and always relentlessly glum.

So, when something did come into her life that was exclusively for the elite, each time she had used the word to describe it, it had been _beautiful._ Still... even then the word had always felt inadequate coming from her to name it as such. Mostly because she felt un-permissioned to even gaze upon whatever it was she was not accustomed to seeing. It was always the same few commodities; a dress from a stall she would never be able to afford, jewelry on a woman in passing, a rich and succulent sample of food she hadn't the coins for. And like any impoverished person, she had wanted all those things, but knew in her heart she'd never have them.

Coins were always an issue. They assigned the castes in the capital city, and because she never had enough in her pockets, could only purchase what was labeled the mundane; simple and boring things needed to survive. Certainly, things nobody would ever find opulent.

Norah had accepted long ago that the word 'beautiful' was something she would never be able to purchase; it was a golden word she could never afford to buy for herself. She was never worthy of it.

The girl tugged at the neckline of her dress; the material feeling as if it was choking her.

Now, she was surrounded by the word— consumed and suffocated by it. It was in the bloodstone walls, the glossy wooden furniture that had equally polished silver pitchers and plates holding wine, water and an array of fruits and expensive cheese that were so rare she had never seen or heard of before. Even the small sampling of honeycomb she was told by Ramina that was 'absolutely had to be paired with the Makeba goat cheese— it is divine together' was something she had never known existed. Her only experience with anything honey related was mined from the Kytinn hives and it had been so acidic and bitter that it gave her the worst stomach cramps.

However, what made her most uncomfortable and ineligible was the marbled bathtub that was a small private pool carved into the floor. It was also elegant, glaringly palatial and deluxe; not something an ex-servant girl should be stepping in despite the two maids in lavender —also frustratingly as beautiful as Ramina though the older host still outshined them— were finishing preparing for her by pouring water into it from buckets. She huffed in exasperation— even the Gods-damned buckets were immaculate.

Alongside the pool being attended to by another lavender-dressed maid, was a small bowl holding a mixture of pink pastel petals and whole white flowers sitting on leaves that she had never seen before.

She absentmindedly discarded the petals about, making sure to blanket the water, before she plucked her fingers into the bowl and let one of the larger white flowers fall from her hand to bob along the surface like a cork.

The baker's eyes narrowed…

Norah couldn't help but find the whole thing rather wasteful; it was so many flowers pried apart and their growth ended short for something as banal as a bath— especially a bath for _her._

Flowers, like other expensive things, were not something Norah came across often. Outworld's flora in the desert was limited to what was strong enough to survive, cacti and poisonous but beautiful succulents. These on the other hand, were delicate, flimsy things that came from the palace gardens and were doted on by servants and reliant on them for survival. And much like the food on the plate she hadn't bothered to reach for (but wanted to) were from places she had probably never heard of.

Once again, it was another beautiful item the poor weren't allowed to have. The only circumstance was when a man gifted a woman, he was interested in with a magenta mailyea; it was a sign that he was pursuing a serious courtship, akin to a marriage engagement. They were common in the desert, a marigold from a cactus that bloomed quite often and was sold frequently in the marketplace, but for the underprivileged, cost as much as a fine gemstone and meant so much to poor women when gifted one.

Norah fidgeted her fingers together, lacing and un-lacing them as her slanted gaze looked to the floor again; anger and despondence mixing and churning in the pit of her stomach.

It was a flower nobody would ever give her. Especially now that she was forced to wear a gold band from a husband she never asked for.

Her eyes went back to the pool, watching the flower petals jounce lightly from the ripples of the poured water from the buckets. Seeing them— being junked as they were— sparked a sudden flicker of irrational annoyance through her.

They were nothing to the maids or Ramina. They meant more to her than the other women, who were probably gifted flowers daily from handsome palace men. Norah had never received _any_ flowers from anyone and had wanted one for the longest time before she thought it to be nothing more than a ludicrous fantasy.

She felt her chest grow tight, her eyes nearly brimming with tears.

And now the first-time flowers were being _given_ to her, was for a bath. Something so unimportant and forgetful when they were meant to be so much more.

She wiped a tear from her face, hoping they didn't see it.

It was such a silly thing to get so worked up about, she was completely aware it was, but it was still insulting— demeaning.

To both her and the flowers…

The baker shook her head, raising a hand towards the maid with the bowl. "Please stop… I don't need this many flowers."

The maid, a demure and fragile thing, younger than her in appearance, held a fistful of petals above the water, ready to drop them, before she heard her. The Outworld girl's eyes drifted from Norah to Ramina, wondering whose word to pay more head to, as her hand hovered over the water's surface.

Norah felt a hand placed on her shoulder, Ramina smiling unpresumptuous at her. "It is quite alright. It is necessary to use so many to get the water to the right aromatic—"

She balled her fists; her voice as polite as she could muster through clenched teeth.

"It's _enough_. You do not need to waste them like this," Norah's eyes landed once again to the plate of food, her stomach twisting and longing for it, as she threw a hand in its direction. "You don't need to waste _any_ of this!"

The air, already humid and dense, became even more compressed as a tense silence shadowed behind her sentence. Norah could feel their eyes on her, judging her with bewilderment at her rigid request— possibly not something they were used to, or at least, watching someone get as sentimental about flower petals.

She couldn't help it… she didn't want something beautiful wasted on someone so undeserving. They weren't supposed to be for her, and she felt devoured by guilt letting them rain them in the bath water for as long as they had. Norah hadn't earned a single petal from any flower, let alone a whole lovely cluster of different arrays.

"Its… its too many…" she whispered, feeling a need to keep explaining but unsure of how to properly articulate her emotions. Not that they would understand anyway, and that was what she assumed, as she looked at the other maids in the room.

Even the maids pouring the buckets had stopped what they were doing at her outburst, and she sighed; feeling enclosed on all sides by the women that couldn't relate to her as they stared at her in uncomfortable silence.

However, she noticed they didn't look at her as so many highborn folks had to her, passing by her in the streets of the marketplace. They stared at her with confusion, but with empathy as if they were sorry for not heeding some unvoiced transgression they should have detected from her obvious discomfort.

They… they just stared at her as if she had equal or as much worth than they did. Her: a grime-covered slave not befitting of such compassion from anyone because she was lower than everybody else in the room.

To make matters worse, their sympathy was genuine. It wasn't a phony performance from servant to master (one she had done quite often around Black and his fellow Kahn's guards) but as if… as if she was their friend and they understood her.

"Please…" the baker beseeched. "You… you don't have to do any of this… it's not worth the waste."

The ex-cupbearer could feel Ramina's eyes soften at her, as well as the other women, as she lowered her eyes to the stone at her feet and sagged her shoulders with embarrassment.

Perhaps she was being stupid— too oversensitive about the entire thing— but she couldn't help herself. It was so alien to be treated this way that it had to be a transgression despite they played along that it was nothing.

But she had to say something. To let them know so it didn't stay unvoiced and poisoned her thoughts. But what good did it do anyway? She made everything worse as she always did. She should have just kept her mouth shut. Now all she felt was confliction about feeling confident that she had spoken up, and humiliated that she had let them peek in on her woes.

It was not like they could relate to her anyway… not fully.

Ramina looked to the women, giving them a cool instruction: "Please leave us be girls. Go check to see if assistance is needed in the natatorium and then return."

The lavender-dressed maids said nothing, merely leaving the buckets and the bowl of flowers behind as they stood, gave a quick curtesy, and then departed the room; closing the door behind them after the last girl had filed out.

Norah shook her head, feeling humiliated— so much that she wasn't even sure of the source of why she felt so. But then, she spoke, muttering out her apology as to why. "I'm sorry… I am not trying to be difficult or make your maids feel uncomfortable. I just… just…"

Ramina's chin tilted towards her, the woman lifting Norah's chin with her fingers to look at her. She smiled reassuringly, though it was difficult to tell as her vision fogged over with ashamed tears.

The receptionist left her, walking towards the red velvet cabriole couch against the wall and next to the table where the platter of food rested untouched. Ramina sank into it and patted the seat next to her. "Sit with me for a moment."

Even though she shuffled over timidly after a moment's pause, Norah didn't make a move to sit down; the fabric of the couch looking like it cost more than her own life did.

Ramina nodded her heads towards the vacant section. "It is alright."

The baker shook her head dejectedly, looking down at her tattered dress. "I'll… I will dirty it. My clothes are so disgusting…"

"Norah. It is fine, I assure you. No one here will behead you for dirtying a couch. Please sit next to me. I just wish to talk with you," Ramina asserted, her voice a soothing as a melody yet direct.

Norah sighed, lowering her head, before she turned to sit down—seating as far on the edge as she could without losing balance; still feeling as if she was a trespasser on the couch. The other woman said nothing, understanding and accepting it would be the best she could get from her for now, before she reached over and grasped the tray of food from the table to present to the baker.

Again, Norah shook her head; politely refusing even though both Outworld women heard her stomach growl.

Ramina sat the tray in her lap, looking over her and wondering if she could address what was clearly on her mind. "It is not just the number of flowers is it?"

She blinked, tears threatening to spill, and before they did, she wiped and cleared her eyes before placing her fidgeting fingers into a ball on her lap. "No…"

Ramina picked up a dark grain cracker from the plate with her fingers and the cheese knife, smearing the goat cheese on to it. "And it is not the type of food is it?" she asked, topping the cracker and cheese with a small sampling of honeycomb before she placed it on the tray for later.

Norah shook her head.

Her expression softened. "You have never had any of these things, but have always wanted them, yes?"

The baker sighed, her eyes to her lap, as she ran a nail underneath another to clean the dirt from under it. "... Yes. But I am not allowed."

The lavender-dressed woman placed a compassionate hand over Norah's, stopping her nervous hands in her lap. "By whose decree? None of us have said you cannot have these things. So, who is it that has told you not to?"

The baker blinked, looking up at the posh receptionist in confusion, unsure how to relay such a redundant explanation to her. "It… it's just not done… for someone like me."

"Who is _someone_ like you?" Ramina inquired, raising a single eyebrow.

"Someone… who doesn't have coins," Norah confirmed quietly.

The bathhouse woman soothed a thumb over the top of her hand, running it back and forth along her skin in a maternal and comforting gesture. "What is your opinion when you look at me or the other maids?"

The former cupbearer glanced up at her, dubious if it was wise to be honest or if she should tell her a lie for the sake of pleasantries. She didn't want to be rude to her; the receptionist had shown her nothing but non-judgmental kindness since she had stepped foot through the door, and she did not want to reward it back by being disrespectful. She didn't know what to tell her, feeling anything, she told Ramina would be inadequate anyway to help her understand Norah's reluctance. There was no way the beautiful woman could understand…

She was wrong.

"I do not have a coin to my name either. I cannot even purchase the crackers on this plate," Ramina divulged candidly, her head nodding towards the door. "And neither do any of the other woman that work here. We're servants, Norah."

The baker paused, Ramina's admission leaving her even more perplexed and guilty for falsely assuming than before. She… she truly didn't know what to say in response. It seemed honest and obvious, yet so far-fetched, that anyone like Ramina could be like her.

The receptionist's hands left, picking up the sidelined cracker with the cheese and honey on top, and took a bite. She chewed, a demure smile spreading on her face at the puzzled baker before she swallowed and continued: "Still… it does not mean I should deny myself luxuries because of how many coins I have or don't have. Life is about enjoying what we have available in front of us. And _you_ should as well."

Her eyes landed on the plate of food before glancing around the room. "But I did not buy any of this for myself."

"But Minister Black paid for all this already— overpaid, quite honestly. You _should_ enjoy it. He does not condone his money going unused."

The baker's mouth opened and closed; unsure what to say in response to hearing Black had overpaid for her. It honestly made her feel more guilty, though still touched by the kind gesture unexpected from the mercenary. He wanted her to be comfortable, but she pressed on the subject, putting Erron Black at the back of her thoughts for now.

"It is hard for me to enjoy what I know I could never afford on my own," Norah impugned lightly. "I… I should only be given what I can have… because of my station."

"I do understand. You are prideful, but you have a false perception of valuation and beauty, I think, and it is not your fault," the woman stressed, frank but benevolent. "Because you and I, like so many poor folks in Outworld, have been force-fed a truth, when nothing could be farther from it. That we will be executed for enjoying something not meant for our class. That we shouldn't be happy because we are not highborn. And having us believe we are undeserving of the same luxuries when they readily come our way. It nothing more than a tactic to keep us obedient to them. The truth is, we are better than they are. We can live without these things, but they cannot."

Ramina held up the rest of the cracker to her in display, balancing it in the middle of her palm. "These are just pretty things and nothing more. They are tools to inflate the privileged ego's and remind us that we are inferior because we cannot hope to possess them when in fact, they are nothing but useless to us anyway. But we put their worth beyond our own lives because we are told coins dictate the rules. Gold is beautiful. Gold is worth more than us because of the fleeting luxuries it buys. Gold is _flawless_."

The receptionist crushed the cracker, cheese and honey in her hand, mashing it between her digits hard enough for remnants to come through the space between her tight-pressed fingers. Her hand opened, revealing the mess made; the once fine, expensive food reduced to mush.

"Do you still value the goat cheese over yourself?" Ramina asked, "Even in this state? Do you think if I presented this to a palace nobleman, they would give me the same number of coins for it as before?"

"No, I do not think so," Norah agreed, furrowing her eyebrows.

"But why not?" Ramina prodded forcefully, raising an eyebrow, and shrugging at the cheese. "It is still the same thing, isn't it? Same Makeba goat-cheese, honey and crackers. It still all tastes the same. Even if it was not as pretty as before, what makes it so different? What makes its worth less now than seconds before?"

Norah hesitated, pleasantly caught off-guard. "Nothing."

"Exactly. Which is why _coins_ are not always the best judge of something's, or someone's, true worth. The cheese is still worth the same, just like you and I are the same. But… I am willing to guess, because of the way this place looks and how we are dressed, you thought differently, didn't you? You thought of _us_ differently."

"Yes," Norah affirmed with remorse. "I did… I thought you were all… _different_."

"Do not be persuaded so quickly by appearances; the conclusions you reach will most often be wrong," Ramina said picking up a small washcloth from the table next to the couch and cleaning her hand.

"Our worth is not dictated by the number of coins we have in our pockets. And while my opinion may never take flight as dogma for others like us. My theory is subjective, and I know that, but I want your opinion to change about yourself. You do deserve to indulge a little— you are worth it, no matter how many coins you do or do not have compared to others. You deserve to be happy and feel no guilt about it."

The baker's eyes welled up, shaking her head. "I do not know how to do that, I'm afraid…"

Ramina patted her hand with her own. "Well, let's start with an exercise today"—the woman indicated to the room, waving her hand around—" Like I told you. Minister Black has overpaid your visit with us, and also like I said, he doesn't like his money to go wasted. So… do you think you can help me make sure that we use every coin he has given with what we have in the room? You would be doing me quite a favor by helping out."

Norah gave a timid, yet affectionate smile. The woman was such a rarity; there were not many servants that the baker felt she could develop such a quick kinship with. And despite the inspiring confidence the woman gave her, Norah couldn't help but be reminded of another that conveyed the same doctrine to her weeks prior…

_**You deserve some happiness. And you cannot find it sulking in this house. Go out into the world and find it…** _

Abigail…

She had said something so similar to her after, coincidentally, they had cleaned themselves up after arriving at Guang's house. The older Earthrealm woman had opened to the girl in a way that she had never once done before— now that she was free of Tama's overbearing eyes and scrutiny.

The old woman had written to her everything that she had wanted to convey to Norah when they first met. It had pained her finding out how much Abigail had wanted to warn her but couldn't; fearing that everything would come upon her and Bao's head if she wrote a single word in warning to her.

Her confession of how much Tama had truly been watching had sent such guilt flood through Norah; that Abigail had been so scared to make a move because simply of her introduction into her life. And it only made the baker appreciate the woman more for finally getting up the courage to write in Carver's book… when nobody else had bothered to even say a word…

_**You need to live your life. Forget about what happened. Do something that brings you joy.** _

Everybody wanted her to find joy for herself: Ramina, Abigail— even Black wanted her to be comfortable.

So, if everybody else was putting forth the effort to tell her to do so, why couldn't she tell herself to do the same? They made it sound so easy, and maybe it was… or maybe it wasn't at all. But the result in pursuit of it was the same— she would be better off and walk away with a new knowledge that not everything was terrible.

Thinking briefly, reflecting on her time in the palace and before it, she couldn't really remember the last time she ever did anything nice for herself.

Norah never did take the opportunity to spoil herself with anything. Mostly because she couldn't afford it, but even she knew that there had been opportunities to have fun: she could have joined Bert and Carver to go meet with the other cooks after hours— to discuss their days— she had been invited sometimes, but never did; choosing to go back to her room in solitude. Servants didn't have any luxuries, but even still, they found ways to partake in merriment that she shied away from almost all the time— stopping herself each time because she thought she was undeserving of any moments of optimism in her life.

The baker never knew the taste of prolonged happiness, just small fleeting moments; good memories, meant to be preserved and kept in a figurative glass jar like fireflies. Never meant to do anything else with it except look in on it from time to time. And her collection of happy moments was scant.

The poor were not allowed prolonged happiness, that was what she had been brought up all her life to follow as nonnegotiable law… but she realized now, she seemed to be the only one following that rule in her station. And for who and for what? She was doing herself no favors it seemed, and only demoralizing her own self-worth for a faceless oppressor.

After everything that the baker had gone through, she deserved more than that… and that Ramina was right: she did need a new opinion…

The baker nodded in agreement, smiling more genuinely than before, as she reached over to the platter and picked up a single cracker before dipping the corner into the cheese.

And now was as good a time as any…

"I would be happy to help," the ex-cupbearer said, taking a bite. Norah sighed with contentment before greedily sinking the cracker back into her mouth again; the baker's words mumbled as she chewed and placed a hand over her mouth to be polite "Oh… that does taste good."

Ramina let out a soft laugh, her cheese knife gathering more and a small bit of honeycomb to place on Norah's cracker. "I told you it was. It's even better with the honey."

Norah regarded her reverently, truly marveled at the woman's benevolence and utmost generosity towards her. She wasn't sure how to pay her for her philanthropy and wanted to do so with not just with the 'exercise' she had suggested before. It needed to be voiced.

"Thank you… for this…" the baker smiled, eating the cracker. "I never had anyone"— Norah paused, seeing Abigail's face and recalling her words. She swallowed, resubmitting her statement—" I needed to be reminded I can have good days…"

The receptionist tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear before placing a tender hand on her cheek. "That is the purpose of the bathhouse, Norah: to come out more refreshed then how we came in."

She grinned, nodding her thanks, as Ramina's hand dropped from her face. The receptionist stood, walking over to the wooden vanity on the opposite of the room while the cupbearer finished off the rest of the cracker; savoring it to the last miniscule morsel; it _was_ so good with the honey.

Ramina walked back, kneeling in front of her with two decorative glass bottles that had clear oil inside both. "Now, I know you said no more flowers, so I left the _Edenia Gardenia_ oil behind. These are both remarkable for your hair. These bathing oils have been preserved in the bottles for nearly 40 years before opening and have no flower scent to them, but the end result is quite nice, and you do not need much of it. It will make you feel as if your hair itself was blessed by the Gods."

Norah chuckled, half-genuinely and half with disbelief. Ramina would need the _entire_ bottle for her hair. "Will it help me get closer to what Erron Black paid for?"

Ramina gave a wink. "Almost. But mostly I offer it to you because you need it more than any vain noblewoman in this palace needs it."

The younger girl smirked, grabbing a strand of greasy hair, and pinching it between her fingers; grimacing slightly at the oil transferred to the pads. "Yes… I suppose their hair never looks in such desperate need than mine does."

The lavender dressed Outworlder laughed. "I'm afraid not. Nor are any of the palace women in more need of a bath," she hinted, nodding towards the flower-scented tub.

"Then— for everyone's sake— I should probably take one then?" the servant asked, shrugging playfully.

"For _yourself_ , remember?" Ramina corrected tactfully. "But yes, that would be nice. And since I have a feeling you will want privacy, I will go find you something else to wear after you are done. There is a bell you can ring in the vanity drawer. Simply ring it and one of the other girls will come by if you need any assistance."

Norah blinked. "Oh… well, I wouldn't mind that you stayed. You are nice to talk to— only if you want to. And what do you mean… something else to wear?"

The woman smiled kindly, seemingly surprised that Norah requested her to remain in the room, but happy to. "I would love to stay, Norah. It would be my honor. I find you much more agreeable to talk to then any bloated palace lady that thinks herself a Kahnum and demands tea and goat cheese from me as soon as the plate runs out. And it will help me understand what your likes and dislikes are more," Ramina's brow furrowed, her expression firm suddenly. "Especially since you are not wearing these clothes a second longer. Unless you truly want them back, we can have them laundered, but I think we have something you will like more— and that fits you better."

The ex-servant's forehead creased as she babbled. "I do not have anything else to wear—"

The corner of the older Outworld woman's mouth lifted. "You would be surprised how many dresses and how much jewelry gets left behind and forgotten as nothing. There are things still here from thousands of years ago. They will not be remembered or missed and could use a wearer that will appreciate them— and our closet is getting full and could use the purge," she vowed before her eyes glinted, handing over both of the bottles to Norah to take. "Besides, it will help you get closer to meeting your goal with Minister Black's coins."

The baker's eyes glinted in amusement at the woman's indication, before mulling over the bottles in her hand, trying to decide which nearly identical bottle to use. The bathhouse receptionist pointed to the one on the left with her finger. "This one smells of the rare wild oranges found only in the Kuatan Jungle and is far more expensive than the other."

Norah bit her lip, almost reconsidering, but remembering the receptionist's words as well as Abigail's, before she handed it to Ramina. "I will take it then. Does that bring my debt up to level?"

Ramina shook her head, grinning: "Oh no… you are just making up for what the coins _didn't_ buy before for the bath and everything that went along with it"— the receptionist stood, placing her hands on her hips and surveyed her. "We still have _much_ more we can do to you."

* * *

It wasn't just because she needed a bath— she did, absolutely— but there was another reason why Erron had chosen the Kahn's Springs.

It was not just to visit the grand tepidarium inside; full of rich marbles and mosaics around the watery amphitheater where politics and social discussions were often carried out. It wasn't his cup of tea; too many corrupt louses to share a pool with, and besides, the gunslinger didn't usually care to hear grunting and moaning echoing about the natatorium from men fucking their slaves they brought in with them— male and female— despite the rule that it was supposed to be gender separated. But any rule could be overturned in the palace based on how many coins there were in your pocket. Which he had sometimes in the past, but not to such a lewd degree as the others. If he fucked, he didn't do it in public. He had some integrity.

So, he preferred much more private accommodations, and especially today, with what he called Mera about. The marksman had waited until the male servants left, the ones dressed in a richer purple than what the women maids wore, before he took off his shirt and waited for the healer to come by. For now, he simply sat on the blue carpeted couch, an arm laid lazily atop the back while he tapped a finger to an absent beat he played in his head. One that was failing to distract him from what he was going to say to Mera.

It had been a while since he had seen the healer… or her sister. It had been such an awkward fling between all three of them, though he wasn't necessarily apologetic about what had happened. He felt bad sure, but at the end of the day, it wasn't something he went back to his room to cry about like one twin he knew did.

He had them both, Mera after getting her assigned to him after a bad altercation with a bounty, and then Sera when he sought a chase in the bathhouse. How was he supposed to know they'd be pissed about him having each sibling? It wasn't anything— the sex meant nothing— but only one sister was aware of that. Sera hated his guts and wanted nothing to do with him after finding out he slept with Mera as well, which was too bad; Sera was his go-to maid in the bathhouse. Mera also didn't care too much for him after that, though they were still cordial acquaintances— and only that after she refused to become intimate any longer with him for Sera's sake. Which was also unfortunate… he liked Mera's perfect brand of _healing_ more than Sera's _._

Still, Mera was the best, and discrete physician he knew, and it was what he needed now for his back.

He sighed tiredly through his nose. It wasn't healing as fast as he would have hoped he would and was still painful. Every time he moved, a scab opened. Every time he moved, pain flared along his back. Every time he moved, he was reminded of the Coliseum.

His eyes landed on the vanity across the room, scented oils for bathing and shampooing in girly-glass perfume bottles sitting on the wooden surface staring back at him… but his eyes lifted to the mirror; his reflection gazing at him in judgement…

_Every time_ he moved… he was reminded of what he did for her and what it had cost him. A cost and further repercussions done to his job and name, that she wasn't even aware of and couldn't tell her about.

So, he had to pretend it didn't bother him more than it actually did.

Erron didn't have a clue on how to go about it, but he knew that he had to comply with Chaeomi's demands if he had any hope in getting his life back together. He couldn't spout a word to Norah about anything, and it made him feel like a hypocrite for it— especially considering what happened outside of the door of the bathhouse. He had asked her to trust him when he was the one keeping secrets from her.

Usually, he didn't mind refraining from telling anyone what was going on in his life; he relished in his privacy. In a way, it was a necessity, a habit, that contributed to his anonymity and job. Something that had always gone along with his life as a bounty hunter. Erron couldn't afford to let others know what his tells were. Spilling secrets meant spilling possible weaknesses about him. And this… arrangement that he made, made him weaker. She was tied to him— she would be for a while— whether he liked it or not. And there was nothing he could do about it.

His hand, the one resting on top of his thigh, tightened into a fist as his fingers stopped drumming along the edge of the couch.

And she had no idea of her worth to him. Erron wanted to simply tell her, as another way to get her on his side and be a bit more cooperative with him. But infuriatingly, he couldn't do that either. His _kindness_ to her had to be snaky, secret and calculated, much like the creator of the clandestine contract his hand was forced to sign.

The only method he could see that would keep her alive, was to get her to be more complacent and comfortable around him. But how? He still had no love for her and still thought of her as irritating and bullheaded, despite her being more agreeable towards him now. For the moment, he rewarded it, reciprocating it awkwardly but genuinely and that seemed to be working. Still, he hadn't the faintest idea how to even keep the woman on his side more— to keep her alive— and away from her husband so she would eventually lead him to Rain as promised by the blue-eyed phantasm.

He shook his head. She was like some little foreign potted and fragile plant he was forced to take care of that he didn't ask for.

His eyes narrowed at himself in the mirror…

But had no choice but to be a gardener for. And he was an ignorant one.

Black had no idea how to handle women aside from just wanting to and fucking them. He didn't now how to go about any of this. First example being that he had thought he was doing good bringing her here, and she had reacted the opposite of how he thought she would. Perhaps it was his fault for not connecting the pieces; that she wouldn't like the bathhouse considering what happened in the Vaults— she had briefly told him, but he had forgotten about it.

So, he felt even less confident than before, and honestly, it surprised him. It was ironic, he was usually very confident around women, but Norah, she was such an enigma to him. He had no idea how to get such a stubborn, introverted woman like her to trust him and it was the other reason why he wanted to have Mera see him…

A knock came, and he called out to them to come in without turning to the door. Dressed in green, her usual attire and with a leather satchel and white apron hanging to the side, Mera offered an amiable smile to greet him.

He needed a second opinion… a woman's opinion.

"Mera…" was all he said, tipping his hat and greeting her back without looking in her direction.

The Outworld woman's brown eyes browsed over him, assessing him from head to toe as she closed the door behind her. "You look like you've seen better days, Erron."

The gunslinger's eyes finally glanced over to her and he frowned, the first thing he noticed was her red, puffy eyes despite that the rest of her demeanor was composed; she looked like she just collected herself from crying. "Same could be said of you."

"It is nothing to worry about," she waved off with her hand holding a brown satchel, though he didn't necessarily believe her; the words departing from her mouth more despondent than she probably wanted him to catch. "What was it you wanted to see me about?"

Black chewed the inside of his cheek, almost wanting to prod into her affairs; he never had seen Mera as downtrodden as she was but decided to leave it be. He stood and turned slowly, showing her his back.

He heard her suck in her breath at the sight, which was a bit unexpected from her. She had seen much worse in her time as a healer, but then caught her sighing with sadness at him. "So, it is true… you _were_ at the Coliseum."

He looked over his shoulder. "That all you heard?"

"Yes…" Mera answered. "Everybody thinks it's just a rumor though."

"You don't have to lie," he accused.

"You know I would not lie to you about that," Mera attested stoically, giving him a half-shrug. "Nobody knows why you did it, and because of it, most don't believe you did. Those that do, believe the Kahn was angry with you and sent you to the Coliseum to pay amends for your transgression."

Erron related nothing, yet she still called it.

"But that's not the full truth, is it?" Mera speculated. "There was another reason?"

He hesitated, his eyes sternly to the wall in front of him. "Yeah…" he saw green; shapeless and with a name he refused to acknowledge. "...there was…"

Erron finally turned to her, the healer assessing him once again; arms at her side and with an imperturbable expression as she ran her eyes slowly over him. As if the answer was hidden somewhere on him, but after a moment, she gave up and met his eyes. "Would you like to talk about it?"

The gunslinger considered, mulling over it in silence to make certain he could trust Mera to keep a secret. The last thing he needed was word getting out that it was because of a woman, he had volunteered to be whipped. Black already had enough to deal with, and the rumor that was circling around his head like a kettle of vultures, was plenty.

He placed a hand on his hip, looking over her as she nodded minutely; acknowledging in silence to the Kahn's Guard that he could trust her… and he could. Like every reason for coming to the bathhouse, it was for Norah, and he needed to talk to Mera about it.

"Lie on the stone, face-down," the healer instructed him as she placed her satchel on the table before reaching into her white apron.

He obliged, taking off his hat, and walking back to the couch where he exchanged it; leaving it on the seat and picked up one of the decorative blue pillows before he turned and tossed it to the ground in front of him. Grimacing, he got on his knees before lying prone on the stone; the cold floor making him clear his throat uncomfortably.

Black placed his head on the pillow and bent his arms around his head, turning to face her direction as he heard her footsteps draw closer to him. She got on her knees next to him, holding the item she had pulled from her apron eye-level to him.

"I am going to administer Liquid Souls for your back," she briefed, the small emerald glass vial only a few inches tall pinched between her pointer finger and thumb. "It will close the wounds quickly and I have a friend that will clean up the rest of the hanging scabs and dead tissue that will remain after they close."

"Your friend?" the bounty hunter questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Mera smiled, placing the tiny glass bottle next to him, to reach into her apron pocket once more. He watched her in silence… and then frowned hard when she brought her _friend_ out of her apron.

A large, electric blue fur-covered millipede, unraveled from its tight circle in her palm, and chittered like an angry cicada at its owner; the thing looking like it just woke up and was protesting about it.

"Shh… shh… it is alright…" Mera soothed, running her fingers along its fuzzy back. Its caterwauls tapered off, the bug flexing and lifting its back into her fingers like a cat, as it started to relax and squeaked rhythmically and sharply. Black curled up his lip in disgust, watching as the bug stretched out on Mera's hand and looked down at him with giant black eyes.

Erron looked at her, blinking in repulsed bewilderment at her. "You keep a bug the size of a rat snake in your pocket this whole time?"

"Yes. He is my assistant, Erron. Meet Moloth," Mera smirked, as the large millipede balanced on her palm using its middle legs, while the rest of its bumblebee-like blue fur body wrapped around her wrist like a tree vine. The rest of its torso stood upright, as its front two legs, larger than its tinier, multiple legs, combed over the two large fluffy antennas, akin to a moth, it had protruding on each side of its head as it gazed back at him with the oversized eyes. It chittered again at him, sharp like a door opening and closing quickly on rusty hinges, and despite the shrill sound, _adorably_. It stared at him with a tame, but strange curious disposition, while its ant-like mandibles clicked together as if the thing was as smart as a dog rather than an insect.

He had no fear of bugs, especially considering how much time he had spent around D'Vorah when she was on the Emperor's payroll, but the last thing he wanted after having countless bugs pulled from inside his flesh was to have another one crawling around on him.

"No," Black protested out with a snarl. "It can go back in your pocket. Looked like he was happy till you woke it up anyway."

"Don't tell me you are _afraid_ of him," Mera teased softly. "He is harmless. He's a Venom-Eater and a very handy assistant for a healer. He can consume any venom a patient meets— even Kytinn. But he is just a baby right now, so he is not ready for that just yet," Mera continued, ignoring him as if she didn't even hear him. She placed a finger between the bug's torso and stroked it, the millipede/moth hybrid placing its fuzzy legs over her digit as its feelers bounced along the top.

"He grows bigger based on the potency of the poison or venom he consumes— I cannot wait until he eats enough to cocoon— but he is also good for removing dead skin and cleaning up a patient. It's kind of a delicacy for him. Like you and your Earthrealm drinks that you gripe about because they are in such short supply in Outworld."

Regardless of it being unintentional, her last sentence reminded him of his earlier treatment of Norah at the tavern and fouled his mood instantly.

"I didn't ask about the life story of your goddamn bug, Mera. I don't want it on me."

"Be nice, Erron," Mera reprimanded sharply before she flashed him with a purposeful, persuasive grin. "After all, he is also good for preventing scars, too. The Liquid Souls will close your wounds, but the saliva of a Venom-Eater can help reduce the appearance of scar tissue that may linger. It will be like you never even went to the Coliseum."

"Well, ain't he a talented little shit. I still don't give a rats ass—it's not going on me," Black scolded, staring at the bug as it moved over the top of her hand; slithering along the back before her other came up and made a platform for him as the bug walked from hand to hand.

"Moloth already is eager to help you, Erron and yet you were so mean to him," the healer jested, still handling the millipede, and smiling as she watched it. "I think you owe him an apology, otherwise, he might choose not to help you."

" _Good,"_ he snarked back with a growl.

The movement of her hands paused, the bug reaching out towards his back with its front legs moving in the air, trying to find something to latch on to without falling, and continue its course. Its fuzzy antennas flicked, its front to legs outreaching as the backside of its body clung on to Mera's hand and chittered again; the bug resembling a toddler outreaching for a toy it was not allowed to have.

"I don't got a problem with scars," Black retorted, eyeballing the bug as it reached for him. His eyes darted to his tally-marked biceps. "As you can see."

The Outworld healer placed a hand in front of Moloth's front; its larger legs wrapping around one of her fingers like a monkey clinging to a tree. "Erron, I know you don't have a problem with scars— and you act like you have a choice. He is going on your back whether you like it or not."

His eyes narrowed in warning at her. "Put it on me and it's getting crushed under a boot-heel," he shot back with a growl.

Mera's eyes narrowed at him sternly. "You are getting _both_. No Venom-Eater, no Liquid Souls. You cannot have one without the other."

"I'll find another healer," Erron countered. "One that doesn't carry bugs in her pocket."

"Almost every healer in the palace has one, you imbecile," the woman scoffed. "You would get a bug on you, no matter who you traded me with. They must eat _something_ when they are not consuming venom. You would be doing me a favor by feeding him— and I will return it by listening and offering my advice for whatever it is you want off your chest. I know you well enough that you didn't see me _just_ for your back."

His expression soured at her, unhappy about his lack of choices on the matter, as the bug's big eyes stared at him, waiting for his answer just the same as its heartless owner. He curled his lip at the annoyingly cute, blue-furred bug, finding it still repulsive despite its overly adorable appearance. However, Erron didn't have much choice. He did need Mera's help with both things he came to the bathhouse for, and once again, felt a small twinge of annoyance flow through him, hating the idea of relenting to the healer's demands. Once again, he was doing more than what was asked for him for Norah's sake, and it was yet another thing she would never know.

"Fine…" Black grumbled out in allowance before he shot her a sharp look. "But if he burrows inside of me, it's dead."

Mera said nothing as she placed Moloth on the ground, the millipedes many legs already working in tandem to work its way to him. It lifted and propped its larger, fluffy pronged legs on the outside of his forearm, its antennas lightly tapping his skin with almost undetectable touches; he barely felt a thing from it—the bug was lighter than it looked and obnoxiously soft.

Still, he glowered at it. "Fuck off."

Surprisingly, it did nothing but click its mandibles at him, climbing off and returning back to Mera; as if the thing understood him.

The healer repositioned her posture, sinking from her knees to sit on the floor with her legs crossed as the Venom-Eater climbed up and on the fabric of her skirt and nestled into a ball in her lap once more like a housecat; forming a tight spiral, its head still in his direction and attentive, as she uncorked the Liquid Souls with her fingertips.

"Drink— and I would plug your nose," she advised as she handed the bottle to him.

Erron only followed the first part of her order, tipping the delicate glass bottle like a shot into his mouth and swallowing as well as he could with his chest flat on the ground.

The gunslinger's features immediately twisted in displeasure as soon as he gulped it down, and he heard himself gagging on the horrendous dense liquid that traveled down his throat as his eyes squeezed tight. Still, he managed to keep it down—barely. "Feel like I just ate one of your bug's liquified family member's."

The woman chuckled at him, petting the bug's back with a fingertip lightly as its antennas twitched. "I did warn you, Erron. It has never been the most pleasant of medicines I have. But it works fast and resolves ailments quickly."

Black smacked his lips, still tasting the repugnant liquid on his lips. "How _quickly_?"

Mera bit her lip, her expression cryptically sympathetic. "Very quickly, I'm afraid…"

His back buckled in with an abrupt, sharp twinge and he grunted. Then pain ambushed him, the gunslinger feeling as if he had just been punched in the back by a hot branding iron, as he felt the liquid pool into the lowest part of his stomach and gnawed it apart like a knife had just plunged into his gut and was spooning out his entrails.

"And very painfully," the healer added, her words littered with a subtle apology.

He breathed through his nose, fighting back the dull pain that twisted and folded his stomach as if someone was using it to tie a sailor's knot with it. His forehead dipped into the cradle he made with his forearms, the skin of his back feeling as if someone was taking a filet knife to peel it away before placing the flap of flesh back on him again. He hissed, clenching his teeth tightly, as his hands tightened into fists.

He felt a hand in his hair— Mera's— offer him comfort, as he tried to keep himself from letting out any more noise as he felt his back and stomach ignite on fire.

"It doesn't last long…" she said, smoothing his hair.

Erron moaned in pain, moments feeling like eternity, as his breaths came out heavy and strained while he tried to fight through the pain; his body feeling as if someone was dumping hot coals on it and then walking on him without care.

"You're almost done, Erron," she consoled, removing her hand from his hair to place on his shoulder-blade— one that no longer had a mark from the whip on it.

Sweat rolled along the back of his neck and brow, the mercenary huffing into the floor, as his back arched into the healer's palm. She pressed down on it, encouraging him to remain where he was despite all he wanted to do was thrash in pain on the stone…

Then, as quickly it had come, it all subsided; the pain tapering off as gradually as he was able to catch his breath and felt his muscles relax. Black panted into the floor, the rest of his body untensing as he felt the healer's hand smooth over the small patch of skin she had her palm resting on. The mercenary's eyes opened, his vision foggy, as he lifted his chin to look around the room; sweat dripping off his face and landing on the skin of his exposed arms.

"Your borrowed magic made it go quickly for you," he heard Mera's voice float around the space above his head; a bit discombobulated as all his senses returned back to normal.

Black felt something run over his back, ghosting like a feather duster over his skin before it paused and began to tug gently at a small inch of his back; not painful, just enough to feel. He went to look over his shoulder before he felt Mera's hand push him back down.

"It's just Moloth," she told him before giving his shoulder blade a gentle pat. "Hungry little thing got impatient."

The gunslinger stiffened at the thought of the bug already on him, working away without care about the animosity the occupant felt towards it, but ultimately relented; it wasn't going to go anywhere now. For the most part he barely even felt the thing; the bug as light and soft as a feather despite the fact he could hear it click and eat at his dead skin on his back.

He felt the healer's eyes shift over to him, redirecting her attention from her insect to him once again. Mera's countenance regarded him warmly yet patiently; his acquaintance still seeking an explanation for his visit to the Coliseum in silence. She gave him a listless smile that faded as quickly as it stretched on her face.

"So why?" she asked softly.

Erron sighed, planting the point of his chin into the meat of one of his forearms as his eyes looked straight ahead. The corner of his mouth pulled bitterly to the side, the mercenary contemplating and sorting out what he should and could tell her; filtering out unnecessary details and things about his past that Norah reminded him off that he never wanted to relate to anyone.

He turned to her, lifting a brief eyebrow towards the woman when he outlined and settled on a quick synopsis of events that he felt comfortable telling. "It's a long story…"

Mera patted him on the back gently. "I do not have anywhere else to be now. Unless your tale bores me, then I might come up with something to leave the room early."

Black let out a brief, airy chuckle at her small joke before the woman regarded him more understandingly; her head tilting down before giving him a quick nod.

"It will be between us," Mera said, "it will not leave this room."

"I know…" Black accepted; questionless about trusting her word. She really was one of the few women he could tell anything to. "I don't even know where to begin…"

"Usually at the very beginning is a good place to start," Mera smirked, patting his back; pandering to him lightly as was her custom towards him. He abstained from firing back a quip, so, after a final pause, he told her the truth about what happened.

Well… _his_ version of it.

The only one he felt comfortable telling for now…

* * *

**A/N:** Hoped you enjoyed. Feel free to leave feedback and as always, see you next chapter.


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